


created in chaos

by butforthefall



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: AU, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, [in the vine voice] oh my god they were roommates, deputy's writing a book called "how to lose friends and alienate people", more of an M rating but it'll eventually get to E, more tags to be added as more chapters are but there are warnings at the start of each chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:26:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 44,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28088469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butforthefall/pseuds/butforthefall
Summary: They had such faith in Joseph and the Project that they didn’t think for a second that Joseph could be killed when the helicopter went down. No, of course not, because the LordchoseJoseph; God wouldn’t let the Sheriff’s Department take Joseph, Joseph would be safe. The non-believers though? Oh,theywould be punished.And they were.And they continue to be.And Cordelia can’t save them.She can’t even save herself.(And maybe, she thinks, this is what she deserves.)Or, the Deputy makes the decision to negotiate with the Project and there's definitely no way that could go wrong for any of them.
Relationships: Female Deputy | Judge/John Seed, John Seed/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 46





	1. becomes, my god, what have you done?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, this has been a WIP pretty much since the game first came out. I've been writing and rewriting. I've been thinking about it off and on. Then this year rolled around and I replayed premise so I really hope that I'm writing something that isn't too much like another fic. I havethe game and decided to just post this. I know that there are fics in the fandom with a similar n't written anything in years so hopefully this is okay, and there aren't too many mistakes, and, most of all, you enjoy reading it. If you can't tell, I'm very nervous to finally be posting this. Anyway, let's get on with it.
> 
> Warning: there's minor thoughts of dying.

“We hit them; they capture us. We hit them; et cetera. At some point, somebody's gonna give up.”

Sharky says it one night as they’re hiking through the Whitetail Mountains. They’ve just finished liberating the radar station, which had proven more difficult than initially anticipated. Everything had been going according to the very loose plan they had concocted when they were driving up there... then everything went to shit; Jacob’s armed convoy spotted her hiding on the radio tower, some Chosen with their Judges heard the commotion, and the enemies inside the radar station ended up having more firepower than she had been told. So, really, the fact that she, Sharky, and Jess made it through with only minor injuries is a win in her book. Part of her had honestly believed that was her moment.

Until it wasn’t.

And she was left standing there, vaguely acknowledging the praises she was being given over the radio.

While members of the Resistance had wanted to celebrate their new acquisition, all she had wanted to do was find an abandoned pick-up or quad or _anything_ that would provide her with the ability to sit down and turn her brain off for a few hours. Which is why Sharky and Jess are currently trailing behind her, prepared for any new danger that may approach, while she finds it difficult to even care about potential enemies when the blood of her previous ones is still caked under her chipped nails.

She’s been trapped in Hope County for just over three months now. She’s liberated outposts, saved civilians, completed favors to help members of the Resistance, and even joined in some ridiculous adventures in the hopes that the levity of them would stop her mind from racing with thoughts she doesn’t want to have.

Fourteen weeks of fighting for her life and for the lives of Resistance members had meant taking other people’s lives; people who posed a threat to her, yes, but they were still people. There were some who raised their hands to the sky as they fell to their knees, mimicking Joseph’s gesture, and at first, she had found it hilarious, but as the weeks rolled on, it became more heartbreaking than humorous. These were people who were scared, who were lost, who were misguided by a charismatic megalomaniac and his siblings. Joseph, or what was an incredibly accurate hallucination of him at least, had once asked her “ _when you wake up in the morning and you look at the same news that I do, do your eyes not fill with horror?_ ”. In that moment, she had understood how he could gain such a following because she herself had found herself falling for it, intently listening to his every word and agreeing with him. But once the Bliss had worn off and she had seen his gargantuan statue, that agreement had faded and been replaced with anger.

How many people had he conned?

How many people had walked the path and been found to be unworthy?

How many had given themselves to the Project only to meet their end shortly after?

How many had such faith in Joseph that they would follow his word so rigorously regardless of the consequences?

When she had first placed the cuffs on him and they had walked through his compound, her heart had been pounding in her chest, echoing in her ears. The small number of Peggies that were there were so angry at his arrest and so ready to attack, that it really shouldn’t have been a surprise when they did. But the fact that they had so willingly thrown themselves onto a moving helicopter, even go so far as to throw themselves into the rotor? _That_ had been a surprise. And they had such faith in Joseph and the Project that they didn’t think for a second that Joseph could be killed when the helicopter went down. No, of course not, because the Lord _chose_ Joseph; God wouldn’t let the Sheriff’s Department take Joseph, Joseph would be safe. The non-believers though? Oh, _they_ would be punished.

And they were.

And they continue to be.

And Cordelia can’t save them.

She can’t even save herself.

(And maybe, she thinks, this is what she deserves.)

Every time it seems like she’s making progress in one region, she’s taken and she has no control over it. John has his capture parties, Faith had the Bliss, and Jacob has that fucking song.

Three months trapped in Hope County, three months doing all she can to try to save her people, and she is _terrified_ to take a step in any direction.

Not that she would ever tell anyone that.

Not that she could.

She’s somehow become a symbol for the Resistance, with her face plastered on any available surface with the label of ‘ _SINNER’_ for all to see, and every time she finds herself in a liberated community, she hears the same praises from people she doesn’t know for doing things they should have been able to do themselves. She is _one_ person, who, _yes_ , is sometimes accompanied by one or two other people or animals, but still... She’s been able to put a dent in the Project in such a short period of time when the locals couldn’t? She knows it’s different; for her, she’s only been in the county for a few months, not enough to truly fear the Seeds or the Peggies, or have her will beaten down significantly by them. But as her stay has become longer, she’s developed an understanding of what they’re capable of, why she should fear them and she still persists. Sometimes she wants to ask the others why they can’t try, why they don’t, why they _won’t_ , but she doesn’t because she knows what they’ll say. She’s seen the videos, read the reports, heard stories about people who went up against the cult, she’s even seen the bodies of a few who have been left out as a warning.

 _“Here hangs a sinner by the name of Alex. He and his friends came to Hope County with the idea to expose us. Despite this, the Father forgave him, and chose to save him. How did Alex repay this kindness? By a misguided attempt to free other devoted and lead them through this tunnel. John’s wrath was swift, and the Chosen brought this tunnel down around them. Let this be a lesson for you all. Don’t be like Alex.”_ The note is still clear in her mind two months later, as is the memory of her and Sharky trying to get him down so he could at least have _some_ semblance of dignity in death.

So, what does it make her if she continues to go up against the Project?

Is she a hero, or is she just an idiot?

(In the back of her mind, she hears Jacob’s voice so clearly that a chill runs down her spine. “ _You’re a tool_.”)

And what exactly is she fighting for? For the safety of the citizens of Hope County and for her team, sure, but how exactly does this story end?

“ _Oh, Deputy, you’ve been a worthy adversary and I will willingly give myself and the Project up because of it._ ”

“ _Why, thank you, Joseph. And I hope we’ll keep the body count I racked up just between us. Desperate times and whatever._ ”

“ _Of course, it seems only fair. Now off to jail with me._ ”

There is no ending she can see where everyone gets out alive. Whitehorse had said it when he was still trying to get Burke to back off and walk back to the helicopter, to leave the job of arresting Joseph to someone else, to someone with more back up in case it got out of control, which it ultimately did. And if Burke had just listened to Whitehorse, if _she_ had just listened to Whitehorse _and_ to Joseph, everything would be different and she wouldn’t have to think about things like this. She wouldn’t have to deliberate which of her original team to go after first, which Resistance members to help first, which outposts would provide solid footholds for the Resistance while also weakening the Project, which weapons would be best for each individual task she found herself doing and which of her friends, if any, would be best for said tasks. If she _had_ walked away, the most arduous decisions she would have to make would be what takeaway to order, whether she wanted to move her furniture around to change the layout of her rooms, and whether she wanted to go home with that guy at the bar down the road from her place. But now she doesn’t get to make those decisions. She doesn’t get to be normal again.

There were going to be casualties; she just has to decide how many she wants to be responsible for.

Jess had once told her that she kept a record in the beginning, but stopped because there were too many, stating it must be at least 500 or 600 Peggies. When she’d said that, in the spirit of bonding, Cordelia had laughed and given her own estimate; she’d only been in Hope County for little over two weeks at that point but she had assumed it had to be close to a hundred given everything that she’d done and all the people she’d helped. Jess had replied there were worse things to be addicted to and they had laughed again as they made their way back to the Lumber Mill. It had only been later that night as Cordelia had been laying in her bunk that she thought about what they had actually said, what they had laughed about.

Now into her fourth month in Hope County, it’s become a little harder to laugh about those sorts of things, which is part of the reason she’s been dragging Sharky around the county with them. He doesn’t really fit the stealthy routine they’ve developed but he lightens the mood and stops Cordelia from falling too far into her own head and she silently thanks him for that.

When they finally find an abandoned Peggie pick-up, Cordelia opts to sit in the passenger seat, letting Jess and Sharky argue over who has to drive and who gets the coveted seat at the back. Eventually Jess sits in the back, hands on the headrest and eyes scanning for potential enemies, and Sharky begrudgingly gets behind the wheel.

“Dumb Peggies, always leavin’ their keys,” he says as the pick-up roars to life.

“Yeah, it usually means they’re still somewhere around here so get your ass in gear and get us the fuck outta here, Sharky,” Jess replies.

“Okay, don’t get your…” He stops himself before he says ‘panties’, he always tries to stop himself before he does. _I’m an equalitist, Dep_ , he’d told her once. Instead, Sharky shakes his head and pushes his foot down on the gas. “I’m goin’, I’m goin’… Where exactly am I goin’?”

Normally, it’d be the Lumber Mill because they always have bunks waiting for them there, but lately being in the Whitetail Mountains has been affecting her more than she let on. It always feels like someone is watching her, always waiting for her let her guard down so they can get her. Not that they really need to, Jacob can bring her back to him whenever he wants. He has her. Her autonomy can be taken away at any moment if he so wants, all he has to do is play that damn song and she’s his puppet. And she hates that. If she didn’t feel indebted to Eli and the Whitetails, she wouldn’t even step foot in this region again. They had rescued her from the hotel and taken her in even though she had already begun to be conditioned by Jacob. Eli stuck his neck out for her when Tammy was ready to end it all for her; so, she has to do what she can to save the innocent people in Jacob’s region, even if it means continually putting herself in a danger she can’t get herself out of. At least John’s capture parties can be outrun.

“Fall’s End,” Cordelia answers, resting her head against the window.

Sharky glances over at her, his lips pursed like he’s contemplating saying something, before turning his attention back to the road. He chooses to turn on the radio instead, not even bothering to change it from the Peggie station. It’s obvious that Holland Valley has become her safe haven; it’s the one place she doesn’t feel on edge or like she’s constantly being watched. She knows the latter might not be true given how often John radios her and seemingly knows her every move, knows what actions are hers and not a random Resistance member. She really wouldn’t put it past him to have put up cameras around the region much like Dutch has on his island and Eli has around the mountains. Still, at least she doesn’t have to worry about John taking her mind and moulding it into something she doesn’t recognize; he’ll carve her sins into her body, but at least he’ll let her be autonomous, or as much as is possible when he and his siblings are trying to “convince” her to join the Project and/or give up the Resistance.

Her eyes close despite knowing that Peggies are still around. She should be more vigilant, but she decides to leave that to Jess and Sharky and instead focuses on the song on the radio. The Resistance can say what they want about the Project, and they do and have _vehemently_ , but at least the Peggies know how to write catchy songs.

The radio attached to her hip crackles to life, drawing her attention away from the song and making her eyes open involuntarily.

“Hey, Dep?”

The slight hesitancy in Dutch’s voice makes her brow furrow. A quick glance over at Sharky makes her realizes she’s not the only one who’s a little concerned about his tone.

She unhooks her radio, bringing it to her mouth as she tries to ignore the myriad of thoughts bouncing around in her head, each more alarming and overwhelming than the last.

“What’s up, Dutch?” Her attempt at nonchalance fails spectacularly but she gives herself points for her hands not shaking. Lately, radio conversations have left her a little shaky, regardless of whether they be with the Resistance or one of the Seeds.

“Not sure where you’ve been or what you’ve been up to, but you should head on over to the crossroads where the Grill Streak used to be. They’ve got something up on the screen there you’ve _gotta_ see.”

Cordelia meets Sharky’s gaze again. If possible, his brow is even more furrowed, which makes her feel good because she’s not the only one confused by Dutch’s vague message. But there’s a pit growing in her stomach that she knows only she is experiencing. There have been very few times when Dutch has been vague, he’s more blatant and direct and she relishes that, so if he’s choosing to dance around something rather than tell her outright, she knows it’s something bad.

And, as it turns out, it is.

Sharky parks the car far enough away that the Peggies at the crossroads won’t see them. The three of them manage to take out the Peggies and few Judges patrolling the area before any can raise an alarm. Not that it’s an easy task for Cordelia. Whenever she lines up her sight or gets into position behind one of them, she hears Pratt’s voice, his _screams_ , echoing around her. She forces herself to ignore it, focus on the task at hand first before risking a glance up at the screen. By the end of it, when it’s just the three of them standing by the broken-down bus, Cordelia already knows the video verbatim.

That doesn’t stop her from watching it though.

That doesn’t stop her from staring at the screen, unhealthily cemented to the ground as her eyes memorise every single frame of the video.

She’s not sure when she starts crying.

Maybe after the fifth time she hears Pratt scream “ _Noooooo! Don't leave me here!_ ”.

Maybe the sixth.

All she knows is she has tears in her eyes when the next scheduled Peggie patrol rolls up. Sharky and Jess jump into action while she remains in the same spot, her gaze never leaving the screen as Jacob takes center stage yet again to let her know that Pratt will starve to death because of her.

Because of _her_.

Because _he_ broke _her_ out.

Because _he_ wanted to save _her_.

If Jacob really wanted her back, he could play that fucking song and she’d be at the Veterans Center, awaiting her orders like a good little soldier. She could be back sitting in her cage with the stench of death, despair, and filthy toilet buckets invading her senses, in less time than it took Pratt to help her escape.

But he doesn’t want her back. Not yet.

No, that’s not what this is about.

This isn’t him telling her to come back to him. To _them_.

This is him sending a message.

This is him, and Joseph, and John, sending her a message; she fucks with them, fucks up their plans, and they do the same tenfold. Sure, they already have Chosen in the sky, roadblocks, an increase in patrols, but none of that matters compared to the fact that they have most of her original team and they can do whatever they want to them because of _her_.

She’s fucked them.

She’s thrown a wrench into Joseph’s plans by taking Faith out of the picture.

 _And_ by escaping the Veterans Center.

 _And_ by escaping John’s Bunker.

Whitehorse is alive, but Virgil and Burke are gone.

It’s about time she loses someone else to even the score, right?

And Pratt needs to be punished for his role in her escape; after all, Faith was still around when Pratt helped Cordelia escape. He inadvertently had a hand in it.

It must be the thirtieth loop when Sharky finally pulls her away, or attempts to. Her feet are still firmly planted in place, her eyes still focused solely on the screen, so unyielding that she thinks not even a bison could move her. But Sharky’s determined, his hands wrapping around her waist to hoist her up over his shoulder, winding himself slightly in the process. Finally, when faced with the back of his jumper instead of the screen, Cordelia lets her eyes to close, tears still rolling down her cheeks. She can still hear Pratt’s cries as they walk back to the car, can still hear them even when she’s sitting in the car and Sharky’s turning up the radio as loud as he can, not even commenting on the fact that it’s Peggie music he’s flooding the car with. It’s the only time she’s ever wished that he would change it because as they pass through Joseph’s island, Help Me Faith comes on and Cordelia feels like throwing herself out of the fucking truck and just walking to Joseph's compound to give up. Not that she’d get far; Jess’ focus is entirely on her, her hand resting on the back of Cordelia’s seat, unsure of whether to place it on her shoulder or not, so she’d probably pull her back into the truck.

By the time they finally make it to Fall’s End, the sun’s coming up and the memory of the video has faded enough that Cordelia can ignore it and focus on other thoughts instead.

She doesn’t say anything as she hops out of the car, only briefly turning back to give Jess and Sharky a half-hearted wave before she begins walking to the Spread Eagle. Her hand is on the door handle when she feels his hand around her elbow. It’s not forceful, she could remove it with ease, but she doesn’t. Instead, Cordelia turns her head to see Sharky standing behind her, concern plastered on his face.

“What?” she asks, more clipped than she intends.

“You got that look in your eye. The one you had when I found you wandering in the forest after Jacob nabbed you that second time.”

“At least I’m not covered in other people’s blood this time.”

Her weak attempt at humor doesn’t even seem to register with him. “Shorty, what’s goin’ on inside that head of yours?”

 _Too much_.

“Nothing,” she replies, before sighing when it’s obvious that he doesn’t buy it. She brings her hand up to rest on his chest, a manipulative action to throw him off this line of questioning. It seems to work momentarily with his gaze dropping to her hand. But then his eyes are straight back to hers and she knows that he knows what she’s trying. Guess that’s what happens when you spend almost every day together. Her hand remains regardless. “Sharky, I’m fine. I just need a couple hours of sleep to think clearly and figure out a plan.”

“Last time you said that, you’d just asked me to put our new _friend_ in my bunker,” he says before shaking his head. “Which I did. But you know that if anyone else finds out what happened up there that day and that she’s actually still aliv--”

“I told you, I’m working on it. _She’s_ working on it. It’ll be fine. And I’ll be fine. And she’ll be fine. _Everything_ will be fine,” she reassures. She’s not actually sure who she’s trying to reassure anymore. “I’m good, Sharky. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Someone’s gotta,” Sharky mutters under his breath as he turns his head to glance back at Jess, who’s in the middle of what looks like a heated discussion with someone over the radio. “Me and Jess are gonna go check in at the Ranch then hang out with Nick and Kim when they finally wake up. Y’know, if you decide you wanna talk about what happened in the Mountains or just go fuck up Jacob’s shit again.”

Cordelia nods, mustering up a bright, big smile she doesn’t really feel before she turns back and walks into the bar. It’s weird seeing it empty. Usually Casey is in by now to prepare food for the day ahead and ready to share wisdom or Hope County memories with her.

It’s better this way, she thinks. It gives her a chance to think clearly without outside distractions even though she’d already come up with the plan as Sharky was speeding past Rae-Rae’s, trying to avoid being detected by any of the early morning Peggie patrols. Still, it gives her a chance to evaluate her plan as she rummages through the collection of bottles underneath the bar, looking for the one Mary May sets aside just for her. When she finally does, it feels like the only good thing that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours.

Her plan is stupid and possibly even suicidal, and she can’t tell any of her friends because they’ll try to stop her. Which means she has to set it up without them, has to get the ball rolling before she can even begin to explain her reasoning. They won’t be able to stop her, even if they argue like she knows they will. She needs to have everything in motion before she tells them. She thinks it’ll be easier that way.

(It won’t be. Nothing about any of this is easy.)

She takes a large swig from the bottle of whiskey, listening to the sound of Sharky and Jess pulling away, before she screws the top back on and hides the bottle again. Momentarily, she _does_ consider taking it with her, stuffing it in one of her spare pockets so she can nurse it while she waits, but she knows that’s probably the worst thing she can do.

Which is exactly why she reaches back under the bar and grabs it before sneaking out the back door.

The creaking sound from upstairs makes her pick up her pace for fear of running into Mary May. It’s not like it would be the first time she caught Cordelia drinking in the morning, but that will most likely lead to a conversation and she’s not ready for that.

Hell, she’s barely ready to climb the ladder to get on top of the garage and she wants to do that. Or she convinces herself that she does when she’s walking over to it. When she’s actually climbing it, though, with the whiskey bottle tucked tight under her armpit and her sunglasses slipping down her face, she rethinks her decision. It’s not even the tallest thing she’s climbed in the past twenty-four hours, but she’s exhausted, physically and emotionally.

When she’s finally on the roof, she walks over to very end to sit against the brick half-wall. She’s discovered that no one can see her from the ground if she sits in the corner closest to the street, which is why this has become her favorite hiding spot in Fall’s End. Maybe now that Faith isn’t around, she’ll be able to find a favorite spot in the Henbane too.

But probably not.

If she goes through with this, she won’t be able to hide whenever it gets too much.

She won’t be able to drink.

She won’t be able to do anything she wants.

But things will be better... she hopes.

Cordelia takes the radio off her hip and places it in front of her as she considers what she’s about to do. This isn’t just going to affect her; hell, if it goes the way she’s hoping, it’ll affect the entirety of Hope County. Maybe she’s being too optimistic, which is honestly something she never thought she’d be here. They could just fuck her up the second she gives up. Jacob could make her into his perfect soldier. John could make her into the perfect Project member. Joseph could make her into the next Faith… That thought in particular sends a chill down her spine and makes her take a huge mouthful from the bottle. She definitely needs a backup plan in place just in case that does happen. She can’t become another Faith.

But they do need another one, right?

If she gives herself to the Project, walks the Path, has John carve her sins on her body, will that mean she’ll actually be preparing herself to be a Faith? Or something even worse? _Is_ there anything worse than that?

Shit, maybe she should just go charging into the Veterans Center to get Pratt.

Unless he’s not being held there.

Maybe he’s in Jacob’s bunker. Which she doesn’t have the key to. _Fuck_.

She takes another swig.

She’s so fucking exhausted.

She knows doesn’t want any more blood on her hands. But she’s selfish as well, and she knows doesn’t want to become another Faith, or another Angel, or another mindless Peggie. She still wants to be _her_. She’s not going to do this if they can’t promise her that. Even if it means that she might not get to Pratt in time.

Or Joey.

Shit, she hadn’t even thought about Joey in a while. She’s been so focused on the Sheriff and Pratt and Burke that Joey had slipped her mind.

It has been over a week since Cordelia had escaped from John’s bunker. She’d been so close but she couldn’t save her. All she could do is stare at her through the little window before John obscured her view.

“ _I know your sin. It drives you. Every thought, every action. Your sin is Wrath. So, I’ll indulge you: become Wrath. Let it fill your body and consume your soul. Because in the end, you’ll still be empty. And I’ll be waiting right here. We both will_.”

John’s voice now echoes in her head. It’s true, isn’t it? Everything she’s done in the County since the crash, it could be defined as wrathful, maybe even a little proud. And he’s right, she’s still empty. Like he had been before he said “ _yes_!”. Cordelia’s said “yes!” plenty of times in the past few months; it hasn’t made her feel anything yet, but, hell, there’s a first time for everything.

Her radio crackles to life, breaking the silence around her, and she damn near flings the thing off the roof. Luckily her bottle of whiskey is firmly secured between her thighs or it probably would’ve broken and it’s really the only thing that seems to be grounding her at the moment.

“Deputy, if you’re there, there are some Whitetails who could use your help. There’s a --”

Cordelia turns the radio off before she can hear what Dutch has to say. There are enough Whitetails to help any other Whitetails, or there’s Resistance members from the Henbane who don’t have anything to do. The sun has barely even risen, can she not get a couple of hours for herself before she has to do something else?

She puts the bottle of whiskey beside her before sliding down so that she can lay flat against the roof and enjoy the morning.

If a Chosen were to fly overhead at this exact moment, it would certainly solve her problems. But when has she ever been _that_ lucky?

The doors to the church open, Pastor Jerome’s warm voice almost echoing down the main road as he welcomes the few early parishioners. It must make a nice change, using the church for its actual purpose instead of as a make-shift infirmary and base of operations. Some of the residents of the Valley seem to be appreciating it and benefiting from it as well. Cordelia’s pretty sure the Project’s going to come knocking any day now because of that.

Unless...

Unless.

She knows what she’s going to do.

(“ _You’ve always known_ ,” a voice in her head, the one at sounds suspiciously like Joseph, tells her.)

Cordelia turns her radio back on and switches to what she’s pretty sure is his private frequency. She had spent the better part of a day the other week scouring the Valley for Peggies she knew spoke to him regularly and used all the means at her disposal to get it out of them; hopefully it was worth it.

“I’m looking for a man who doesn’t know how to button up his shirt, has a thing for planes, and a kink for trying to drown people in the river,” Cordelia says, a smile playing at her lips reflexively as a gnawing pit begins to grow in her stomach. “Got anyone there who fits that description?”

The wait is palpable.

If she has the wrong frequency, she might have to explain herself and that’s not really a conversation she’s ready to have with a complete stranger.

If she tries to drink while laying down, she’ll probably spill whiskey all over herself. Telling her friends that she’s made a deal with the devil is already going to be hard, but doing it when she reeks of alcohol? They won’t believe that it was an intentional choice.

“Deputy.” John’s voice actually makes the heavy beating of her heart momentarily calm; there’s a first time for everything. “This is a surprise. Normally when you want my attention you destroy something I own.”

The laugh escapes her before she has a chance to think about it. “The day’s still young.”

“So, what are you planning to destroy today?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

John hums in consideration. There’s only a brief silence between them before he gasps dramatically. “My dear deputy, is this a _social_ call?”

“Yes, I’ve just been dying to talk to you.”

“It’s okay if you’ve missed me. You have been in the mountains for a while now and I know my brother can be... _intense_ when he plays.”

Cordelia scoffs. “‘ _Plays_ ’? I guess you and I have different dictionaries.”

“If you’d like to have a look at mine, you’re welcome to come to my ranch... Oh wait, you already have.”

She figures that’s the best chance for a segue that she’ll get. “You want it back?”

Was it really hers to give away? Well, she _was_ the one who took it in the first place. The one who risked her life by climbing up that tower, studying the paths the Peggies watching the place walked, and taking them all out before they had a chance to sound the alarms. So, yeah, maybe it is hers; the Resistance members call the master bedroom hers despite her hardly ever sleeping there.

“Are you feeling generous or guilty, Deputy?” John asks warily after a momentary pause. It makes sense, it’s not every day that an adversary does something like this. If she were in his place, she’d be acting exactly the same.

“I’m feeling like negotiating.”

Another pause.

It ends up being longer than any of the others. Cordelia actually sits up and checks to make sure there’s nothing wrong with her radio.

Sounds from the street below begin to intrude on her silence. Mary May’s conversation with someone outside the Spread Eagle, the frustrated groans and clanging noises from the garage that’s only just reopened, Pastor Jerome’s still welcoming people into the church; it all fights for her attention as she inspects the radio. It’s like it’s telling her to change her mind, to remind her that it’s not just her life she’s about to change. If only she could listen. If only she _wanted_ to listen.

When she realizes there’s nothing wrong with her radio, she shifts back to rest against the brick wall. Her free hand finds the whiskey bottle so she can pick at the label.

“Wow... Have I left John Seed speechless?” Cordelia asks, hoping that her flippant tone masks her actual feelings.

“Why?”

Ah, yes, that’s the question she’s bound to hear a lot of now. In curious and suspicious tones from the Peggies. In hurt and confused tones from the Resistance. In her own volatile, expletive-riddled nightmares.

“Because either your brother is about to die or one of my team is.” She’s not sure if she’s ever sounded as defeated as she does right now, or as exhausted. The tiny ripped pieces of the bottle’s label are starting to pile up next to her thigh. “And whatever happens will be my fault.”

Just like Burke.

Just like Virgil.

Just like countless Resistance members.

... Just like countless Peggies.

“So, I thought I’d try a different tactic,” Cordelia continues, trying to adopt her usual glibness as the pit in her stomach becomes overwhelming and the tears forming in her eyes threaten to fall again. “You Seeds seem to want me so bad that I’m sure you’re willing to do _whatever_ it takes to get me. And this way I save myself from a Bliss arrow or bullet, which hurt like a bitch by the way.”

There’s another pause.

The pit in her stomach may just about be a goddamn black hole.

She feels. She’ll blame that on the alcohol, not her nerves.

“You would willingly join the Project?”

There’s the curiosity she’s been waiting for.

And last night’s dinner trying to force its way out of her.

Cordelia inhales deeply. The cold morning air is sharp as it enters her nose but that seems to ease her nausea slightly, enough for her to feel confident about opening her mouth to speak.

“I’d need to talk to Joseph first.”

“Why?”

There’s that question again.

“Because that’s how negotiations work?” she says slowly, her brow furrowing. “I thought you were a lawyer.”

“I _am_ a lawyer. I am also a man who has seen what you’ve done to the Project and to this county. Oh, yes, _and_ to my sister,” John replies bitterly, though she does wonder if that’s genuine or if there’s someone with him who needs him to sound angry that Faith is gone. Maybe someone with a man-bun and an aversion to shirts.

“Would you feel better if I promise to come alone and unarmed?”

Every fibre of her being is screaming, telling her what a bad idea that is, that this is wrong, that she’s going to turn out just like _them_ if she has anything to do with Joseph. But she’s gotten good at ignoring herself when she wants to. She’s pretty sure that’s the only reason she’s survived in Hope County for as long as she has.

“ _Why_ would you do that?”

Cordelia makes a fist with her hand, lets her nails dig into the skin of her palm, just so she won’t roll her eyes. Which is ridiculous because John can’t see her... Or, at least, that’s what she assumes but given that the Whitetails and Dutch seem to have cameras everywhere, maybe John does too. She turns her head to glance around. She wants to tell herself that she’s being ridiculous, but he’s also John Seed and he’s part of The Project, and both definitely have the means of installing security cameras around the valley.

“Deputy?”

“Because I’m still empty.” They’re honest words, but they leave her mouth of their own volition; she’s too busy reorienting herself after searching for cameras, that’s what she’ll blame it on.

“I see.”

Another pause.

This one’s longer.

It’s long enough for her to really start to question everything, to feel like the back of her neck is on fire, to feel like the pit in her stomach could swallow her whole.

Maybe she should have just gone to Nick and Kim’s.

Maybe she should have just charged blindly into the mountains to save Staci.

Maybe she should never have taken this job in Montana in the first place.

“I will be waiting for you outside my gate at this time tomorrow.”

She should choose the location.

She should have more of a say in this.

She should make sure her friends can see her when she does this.

This is a mistake.

This is a huge mistake.

What was she thinking?

Is this really how she’s going to save Hope County?

“I’ll see you then, John.”

Mama’s gonna be so disappointed in her. So will Pops.

And her friends.

And her animals.

And her.

Cordelia takes another swig, keeping the bottle close to her chest, as the sun continues to warm her. Maybe if she waits around a little longer, a Chosen plane _will_ find her here.

* * *

Last time she was in this part of Holland Valley, she was running for her life and coming down from the Bliss. And the time before that, she was fighting for her life and it was dark. Her priorities have always been self-preservation over sight-seeing around her, which makes sense, but she really should have come back at some point to have a look around. John really found himself a peaceful part of the Valley for his crazy underground bunker/torture palace. It really is quite beautiful.

Or, at least, that’s her opinion from the tree she’s been sitting in for the last hour.

There was no way she was just going to stroll straight up to the bunker. She’s not _that_ stupid.

The Seeds have to be planning something. They had 24 hours to get ready for this, for the bane of their existence to walk up, unarmed, and prepared to negotiate an end to conflict. They have to have a plan in place.

And yet, she hasn’t seen anyone but the five guards, who have the simplest patrol routes to follow. If this were any other time, she could take them all out so easily; they all have blind spots on their routes, they all gaze off into the distance while they’re supposed to be looking out for danger, they all just want to be somewhere else and it shows.

 _But_ , that’s not what Cordelia is here for. Even if she found the perfect branch to do it.

Her eyes drift up to the sky, hoping to see a hint of yellow flying around but there’s nothing.

She’s alone and about to walk into the lion’s den.

Every fibre of her is still screaming that this is a bad idea, that it goes against everything she believes in and everything that she is, that her friends can help her save everyone.

But Pratt’s screams are loud enough to block out everything else.

After one last look through her binoculars, Cordelia climbs back down the tree. Her brain tells her to throw the branch away as well because she _did_ say unarmed, but also, it’s just a branch and there will be at least five armed guards with John when she walks up; she’s good, but she’s not that good. It’s more of a safety thing really, like a blanket except rougher and slightly covered in sap that makes her hands a little sticky.

Almost as soon as Cordelia walks into plain view, all five guards have their rifles pointed at her. They don’t immediately start firing, though, so she counts that as a win.

“Good morning to you too,” Cordelia calls out, raising her arms and the branch into the air. “Do one of you want to radio John or do you just want to stand around for a while?”

“Shut up!” one of the stragglier of the group shouts.

“That doesn’t really answer my question.”

Cordelia’s too far away to hear what’s been angrily muttered amongst the five of them. She does see the shouting man pull his radio from his belt and bring it to his mouth. Even from this far away, the mixture of annoyance and anger on his face is evident, but he can’t be stupid enough to let that be heard in his tone when talking to John.

Huh.

From the way Straggly suddenly stands up straighter and nods a few times, he is.

He puts his radio back and turns his attention back to her. “The Baptist says to walk up here.”

Instead of rolling her eyes, she gives him a fake appreciative smile. Her arms fall back to her sides and she begins to walk up to the bunker until a throat clearing stops her.

“And to drop the branch.”

“Fucking knew he had cameras around,” Cordelia says under her breath as she does what she’s told.

Now, to say standing outside the bunker with five Peggies, who all look like she’s personally wronged them, is tense would be an understatement. It has been a long fourteen weeks, though; she probably _has_ personally wronged all of them at least once.

She should’ve known that John would make her wait. He probably wants to be dramatic, or has something dramatic planned for this. If he brings a camera crew out with him, she’s going to start throwing punches and the first one will be aimed straight at him.

Maybe it’s to test her. He might be watching her to see if she’s actually serious, or if it’s just an elaborate set-up to lower his defences so she can take him out like she did Faith. Which she already expected him to feel; she just kind of assumed he had people watching her since their radio chat yesterday. Nancy was Peggie and no one in the station knew it, it would make sense if there were members of the Resistance who were actually Peggies working undercover to undermine and poison it from the inside.

Maybe it’s to get his own people in position around the area so they could take her out without her knowing. That seems a little dumb, though. The brothers would make it a spectacle, right? No, that would make her a martyr. Well, she’d probably be one anyway. So, yeah, they’d want to make sure it happened where everyone could see and hear it, either in person or on the TVs and radios, which would be simple since the Peggies seem to control most of stations. In fact, it would be a good way to demoralize the Resistance.

Or maybe it’s just to annoy her. That might be the most likely.

By what feels like the fifth minute of waiting, Cordelia’s head rolls in the direction of Straggly, who is still looking at her like he’s trying exceptionally hard to make her spontaneously combust with just his mind.

“So, you come here often?” she asks.

She really shouldn’t be surprised by his eyes narrowing.

“You know, you don’t have to spend any more time with me if you just radio John again and tell him to hurry up.”

Straggly scoffs.

“I guess I’ll take that to mean you all like spending time with me. Want to play a game?”

“Shut up,” one of the men near the fence says.

Cordelia turns to look at him. “I’m bored. I could be in bed right now. I’m _normally_ in bed right now.”

“No, you’re not,” the other man near the fence replies.

“What?” she asks, her brow furrowing as her attention shifts to him. _Yeah_ , they’re all definitely trying their hardest to make her spontaneously combust, or, at the very least, be given the okay to finally take her out themselves once and for all. It sends a chill down her spine that it _doesn’t_ give her the same feeling when faced with the prospect of her death; she’s okay with her death at their hands, and that scares the shit out of her. What the fuck has Hope County done to her?

“You took back Fall’s End around this time.”

“And just how do you know that?”

If it’s possible, he looks even more murderous. “My brother was there.”

Of fucking course. Of course he was.

She was right; she has personally wronged these five men. Well, she doesn’t know for certain, but given the way the air seems to get even more tense around them, she’s pretty sure she’s right. She’s also pretty sure John gave them this duty for that exact reason. Cordelia knows she can’t – they’re about to start negotiating an end to the violence in Hope County and it’s a tenuous enough plan already – but she really wants nothing more than to punch John square in the face as soon as he walks out here.

Her gaze flickers to the ground momentarily.

In a loud, clear voice that almost has her turning around to check if he’s actually there, she hears Jacob. “ _You’re weak._ ”

The Seeds all have their claws in her mind, but Jacob has dug in deeper than the rest. Even if she killed him, he’d still be there. And she fucking hates him for that.

She shakes her head in a futile effort to get rid of him before looking back up at the Peggie.

“I... We did it as cleanly as we could,” Cordelia says as if it’ll actually help him deal with it. She taps her forehead in further explanation but that just makes his jaw clench. “He wouldn’t have felt anything.”

“I’ll be sure to tell my parents that,” he spits back.

Part of her wants to defend herself. Tell him that all the Peggies immediately attack when they see her and she’s just been defending herself, but she’s definitely used some methods to do so that made her skin crawl later when she thought about it. It’s the reason she told Sharky and Jess to stop using incendiary ammo; she couldn’t listen to those screams anymore.

Instead, Cordelia draws her attention back to the bunker door.

John must be watching, relishing in her anguish. It’s the only thing she can think of that explains making her wait for another five minutes.

Or... maybe not.

When the bunker door finally opens, the first person Cordelia sees isn’t John. It’s the woman being dragged behind him, a bag over her head doing nothing to hide her identity when she’s still wearing her deputy’s uniform.

As soon as she tries to run forward, a hand grips her bicep tightly and pulls her backwards with more force than is necessary. John finally grabs her attention as he tsks loudly and raises his hand in admonishment. At first, she thinks it’s directed at her but she follows his gaze up to Straggly’s face before she’s pushed roughly away from him again, only barely managing to catch herself.

“Good morning, Deputy!” John greets, a wide smile spreading across his lips.

“Morning,” she replies. She can’t even force herself to smile back at him when she can see Joey fidgeting behind him. Does she know what Cordelia’s doing? Did John taunt her with it? Did Jacob taunt Staci with it? That the Resistance’s beloved deputy was giving herself over to the big, bad cult for them. Why is she even questioning it? She knows the Seeds well enough by now to know that they would have.

“I enjoyed watching you climb that tree earlier.”

“Never saw you as a voyeur, John.”

“Only when it comes to you, my dear,” he says with a smirk.

Her brow furrows as she searches his face but she honestly can’t tell if he’s fucking with her or not.

He has cameras around Holland Valley. She has no real privacy at the Spread Eagle. She’s definitely used her car when she needed a place to...

_Fuck._

Maybe he’s not fucking with her.

John watches her scrutiny of him with amusement before he looks over his shoulder at the Peggie holding Joey’s shoulder. He jerks his head and the Peggie nods. The bag is lifted from Joey’s head. Immediately after adjusting to the brightness of the morning, Joey’s eyes frantically search the area before finally landing on her. Cordelia’s heart clenches as she takes in Joey’s face; the bruises, the cuts, the tears streaking down her cheeks. Joey wants to say something but the gag in her mouth stops her.

“So, what now?” Cordelia asks, forcing herself to stop looking at Joey and look at John instead. “You cut her free and let her stumble back to Fall’s End? Jacob frees Pratt and we just hope he knows his way around the Whitetails?”

“Come now, Deputy,” John says, stretching out the title. “Do you think so little of us?”

“Do you really want me to answer that honestly?” The sweet smile on her face feels more natural now even if it’s fake. It helps that she’s staring directly at John instead of Joey, the tension seeming to leave her temporarily. This? Snarking? That she can do. That makes her feel like herself again. It’s everything else that’s fucking her up.

 _“Noooooo! Don't leave me here!”_ Pratt’s voice in her head making her smile falter. She can only ignore it for so long. She’d learned that the hard way last night.

“You can radio your little Resistance buddies,” John says, oblivious to the screams in her head that threaten to drown him out. “And they can come get your deputies.”

Cordelia can only nod, the video of Jacob and Pratt still replaying in her head. She holds out her hand to John. When she finally notices that he’s just staring at it, that seems to break her out of her stupor. She rolls her eyes.

“I said I’d come alone and unarmed. I figured I should leave my radio behind too.”

John lets out a laugh with no humor behind it and hands her his radio. “Smart.”

“Well, I try,” Cordelia replies as she tunes the radio to Sharky’s frequency. “Sharky, you still at the Spread Eagle?”

When there’s no immediate response, John leans forward. There’s a quip on the tip of his tongue, she can tell by the way he’s looking at her, but that drops the second Sharky’s voice comes through the radio.

“Huh? Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I was just... Nothin'.”

John brow arches. Yeah, he definitely wants to say something now. Cordelia doesn’t give him the opportunity.

“I have Joey, she’s safe. I need you to come get her. Can you tell Je...” Cordelia hesitates before shaking her head to free herself of the emotion threatening to bubble over. Not that it mattered, John would find out either during the negotiation or her confession. “Tell _Hurk_ to go to Jacob’s gate and get Pratt? He needs to take him straight to Whitehorse.”

“Sure thing, shorty,” Sharky says, his optimism flows through the radio but she knows him well enough to know it’s a front. He’s terrified of what she’s doing, terrified of what the cult is going to do to her. “We got this.”

Sharky and Hurk might, but does she?

“I know, Sharky. Talk soon.”

“You know it.”

And really, even when she knew joining the Project was never going to be a simple thing, she should have _known_. She should have been more aware of everything and everyone around her; after all, that’s how she’s been ever since the helicopter crash so why did it slip her mind now of all times? _How_ could it? Was it just relief that she had finally managed to save her co-workers? That she had done so without losing anyone else, friendly or otherwise?

As she’s handing the radio back to John, she should’ve noticed his head nod to Straggly straight away.

She should’ve... but she didn’t.

Not until it was too late anyway.

“Oh, fu--”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will every chapter be this long? Maybe. Time will tell.
> 
> I really do hope you enjoyed it and want to come back to see what happens next.


	2. with more than good intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “--cking way!” Nick exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. “No fucking way are we letting you do that, Dep!”
> 
> Yeah, she should’ve known Nick would be the first one to vocalize his objection. Why the fuck had she thought it would be Jess?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To say this chapter got away from me would be an understatement. It definitely wasn't supposed to be this long or this frustrating and yet... I'm not even sure if I'm entirely happy with it but I wanted to get it out because I haven't been able to move on to the next few chapters while this stared at me. There were a lot of rewrites and additions so hopefully I haven't made too many mistakes.
> 
> Still, I do hope you enjoy it! Thank you so much for the kudos and comments so far, it means the world to me. This majority of this chapter is basically just what Cordelia got up to the day before walking up to the bunker.
> 
> Warnings: the Deputy likes to drink to cope, Hurk mishears things and uses the word "whore", the Seeds have screwed with the Deputy psychologically and that's left some marks.

“--cking way!” Nick exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. “No fucking way are we letting you do that, Dep!”

Yeah, she should’ve known Nick would be the first one to vocalize his objection. Why the fuck had she thought it would be Jess?

Cordelia just stares at him for a moment, lets him have his objection, before moving her gaze across the other faces in the pizza bar. Maybe she should’ve told them while she was standing up, but she figured it didn’t matter where she was; she still had the power here and they all knew it. So, there she is, perched on the counter of the bar, legs tucked under her, as she analyzes every single person in the room, trying to gauge just how much convincing she’ll need to do.

Jess is pissed off, arms crossed, leaning against the front wall, almost looks like she’s ready to walk straight back out the door.

Grace is just as pissed, now no longer resting against one of the tables, and definitely ready to walk straight back out the door.

Concern is all over Kim’s face, one hand coming down to rest on her belly while the other mid-air in an attempt to get Nick to calm down.

But he’s too furious, his attention more focused on pacing than it is on Kim’s hand trying to rest against his forearm.

With Adelaide, it’s more of a mixture of concern, anger, and intrigue.

Same goes for Whitehorse and Jerome, only they’re both now starting to move closer to Cordelia, probably want to make sure she’s not under the influence of the Bliss they’ve spent so long trying to eradicate from the region.

Tracey is doing the same inspection, but from afar. She saw the aftermath of Burke; she probably doesn’t want to take the chance if the Dep is being puppeted by Joseph Seed.

Wheaty, who’d been unsure at first as to why _he_ had to be there, is now looking at her like she’s lost it and is starting to reach for his radio, probably to tell Eli and Tammy just that.

From Hurk’s spot close to her, she can see the disbelief and confusion etched across his face as his eyes shift between her and Sharky. See, the thing is that Sharky’s unemotional and Hurk knows he should be because Dep is his best friend after Hurk and she means everything to him and he’s not supposed to be emotionless when she’s telling them that she’s going to join the Peggies, sacrifice herself, to save her colleagues.

Only Sharky and Boomer are the only impassive ones in the room.

But in Sharky’s case that’s only because she’s the one who got to see him go through all of them earlier today. He’s the only person who knew before everyone else did and she got to watch him go through every emotion a person would go through after they were told something like this. She got to watch him scream, and curse, and cry, and she got to feel her heart break as she did. It’d been a great morning after she’d radioed him to come back alone and get her; a great morning for her to burst into tears in the passenger seat and him not to ask her any questions until he knew she was ready, which happened to be as they were driving into pizza bar’s parking lot because that’s how she’d planned it. Cordelia could still feel the force at which he had slammed the car door after she told him in her bones.

“You radio him back and you tell him it was a goddamn joke,” Nick continues, pointing a finger at her as he does.

“And when exactly did I let you start ordering me around?” Cordelia asks with a laugh that has no humor behind it.

“You order us around all the time,” Jess snaps. “Fair’s fair.”

“You’re right,” she agrees, resting her palms against her knees with a smile. “So stop acting like this and start thinking about what I said.”

Grace takes a step toward her. “We heard you just fine.”

“I don’t think you did.”

“You wanna give the Seeds exactly what they want; all of us compliant and open to the _Word of Joseph_ so the Seeds can take everything and everyone they want.”

“I don’t want anyone else to die because of us!” Cordelia doesn’t mean to shout but at least it makes Nick stop pacing and Wheaty stop talking into his radio. Boomer’s head raises from his paws to look around for the source of the noise that woke him. She should probably get off the bar now, it would probably have more impact if she was standing, but exhaustion is settled deep in her bones. So instead, she runs her fingers through her hair and sighs. “We went up against Faith and how many people did we lose? Virgil, Burke, most of the fucking Cougars in the jail. And that doesn’t even come close to how many we lost leading up to that night. I don’t know about you but I’m pretty fucking tired of burying people I know.”

“Deputy, we’ve been doing this for a long time now,” Jerome says. He stops walking towards her when he notices the look she’s giving him. “You’re not the reason these people are dying.”

“You’re right,” Cordelia acquiesces with a nod. “We’ve all got blood on our hands. I know _I’m_ never going to be able to wash it all clean. What about you?”

“We do what we have to, to stay alive,” Grace states.

And that’s true.

But that doesn’t make it any better.

Cordelia’s tried feeding herself that line so many times that now it leaves a rotten taste in her mouth.

“Right now, there are people dying in the valley, in the mountains, probably still here too. Pratt is starving to death because he saved me. Joey is trapped in a bunker because I couldn’t stop her from being pulled from the helicopter or rescue her from the bunker and I was _right there_ both times,” Cordelia says, running her shaking hands through her hair as if that’ll calm them. The look on Joey’s face as she’d been pulled away by John still feels like a gut punch. She shakes her head, hoping that’ll make the memory disappear but she knows it’ll linger somewhere in a dark corner until the right opportunity calls it back to the limelight. Cordelia stares at her friends, determination trying its best to surpass the sadness and exhaustion radiating from her. “I made a call.”

There’s silence as her words settle between them.

At least until a voice perks up from the front of the bar, the venom seeping into Cordelia’s skin immediately. “Not the right fuckin’ one.”

And that’s all Jess says before she storms out of the bar.

“She’s right, Dep,” Grace says. “You don’t just give up when it gets hard. You fight harder.”

If they all hadn’t already been looking at Cordelia like there was something wrong with her, they definitely do when she starts laughing. It’s this ugly, hollow sound that tears itself from her chest; it’s been festering there for a while, waiting for the chance to see the sun.

“ _Fight harder_?” Cordelia questions before bringing a hand up to her mouth, fingers and thumb squeezing her cheeks to try to stop the laughter. After a shake of her head, the same hand is raised in the air. “Okay. Hands up who here has spent time locked in a cage by Jacob Seed? Anyone for more than a week? No, just me, then? Okay.”

She brings her arm back down before immediately putting it back up. “Hands up who here has almost been drowned by John Seed during a baptism? Knocked out by a Bliss bullet and forced into his bunker for confession? Been taunted by him and watched him drag away a beaten Joey Hudson? No, just me again, huh? _Weird_.”

Cordelia’s arm comes down again then goes straight back up. “Easy ones this time. Who here has been in the Bliss? I know some of you have. What about forced to maybe take leap of faith but still fuzzy about what actually happened to those six hours of their life? Constantly tormented by Faith Seed’s voice in their head? Tormented by hallucinations everywhere? Forced to watch a man you worked so hard to save kill someone you cared about and then himself? Anyone? No?”

The silence in the room borders on deafening.

It gives her a moment to breathe, ragged and too deep.

When did she start crying?

And why can’t she stop?

Her arm comes back to rest on her knee and she turns her gaze back to Grace and, for a moment, all she can do is shrug.

This isn’t who she wants to be, but it’s who they’ve bent her into.

“I fight harder every single day. And you know what I get for that? I get to be the only one in this whole county who gets fucked with by every single member of that family. Most of you only have to deal with one of them, maybe Joseph as well, but I get all four of them,” Cordelia says, sounding a little more manic than she expected. She shakes her head with another hollow laugh to accompany the movement. “ _Got_ all four of them. Now it’s three and, funnily enough, I don’t think that makes anything better. The Peggies seem mighty angry that their latest Faith is gone. I guess it’s ‘cause she’s the one who had the good stuff.”

Only one person moves and that’s Sharky to be closer to her. He doesn’t reach out to comfort her, doesn’t know if that’s what she needs right now, but he lets her know he’s there if she does.

“I’m barely holding it together but I’m still out there every day and you know what? The needle isn’t moving. Nothing is changing for the better. It’s just death and destruction and shit out there every single day. So, I made a call.” And this time there is more conviction in her voice even though her hands are shaking. Shit, maybe her whole body is. Is her voice too or are her ears playing with her? “I can’t do this anymore, okay? I’m done. I don’t want to watch anyone else die for this. I don’t want to bury anyone else. I don’t want to become... I don’t want to become something I can’t look at in the mirror. _I made a call_. And if you don’t like that, there’s the door.”

But no one moves.

And she should feel grateful but she doesn’t.

When the silence of the room begins to choke her, Cordelia pushes herself off the bar top because it’s easier to grab a bottle if she’s not fumbling behind herself. She ignores the look Sharky sends her to instead take what is probably her smallest sip of the day. Is it weird to congratulate yourself for drinking in moderation?

“Like I said,” Cordelia says, breaking the silence, and sounding nothing like the sobbing mess she had been just a few minutes ago. She sounds like her old self, whoever that is nowadays. “I’ll negotiate with Joseph. They don’t get me or peace unless he and the rest of the Peggies agree to follow our rules.”

“You think you can make any one of them Seed boys follow your rules?” Adelaide asks. It’s not a malicious question, it’s genuine curiosity fuelling it, and maybe a little of something else that Cordelia doesn’t want to think about at that moment. She’s spent enough time with Addie, heard her thoughts on which of the Seeds is most fuckable; Cordelia giving herself over to the Seeds has to be giving Addie a lot of conflicting and possibly lewd thoughts that Cordelia is grateful she’s not voicing just yet.

Now, if it had been hard to tell them all about her decision, this next part was... Well, it was something that even Sharky had taken an issue with.

Cordelia takes another sip for courage. “They will if we promise to raze Hope County if they don’t.”

Too many voices loudly ask a variation of the same basic question, “what?”, for her to single out an individual voice or emotion.

She takes another sip, still avoiding Sharky’s gaze because like he’s one to judge.

“ _It’s not judgment, it’s concern_ ,” the voice in her head, the one that definitely her own, tells her, even though it knows she’s going to ignore it.

“Deputy, no one in the Resistance is going to agree to that,” Jerome says. It’s seems to give the rest of the Resistance in the room a chance to think about what they’re going to say or, from some of the expressions she notices, whether they’re going to follow Jess’ lead.

“We have a giant bunker,” Cordelia explains. “We stock it up with everything we need to survive, to rebuild, and then we burn everything they want to the ground. Or you all do because I’ll be too busy learning how to tattoo and write fanatical songs of praise for the Seeds and whatever it is they do in Project when they’re not reaping.”

Kim’s disbelief wins out over her concern. “We’d be destroying our homes, Cordelia.”

“We’d be destroying theirs too. Mutually assured destruction.”

“They’d hit us harder,” Grace says.

“Not if everyone was safe in a bunker.”

“Then they’d hit you instead,” Hurk replies. “‘Cause they’re gonna have you and they’re gonna know you told us to do everything and they’re gonna --”

“Martyr me.”

“No, Dep. I don’t think they’re gonna marry you.”

“They’ll _martyr_ me, Hurk.”

His brow furrows. “Huh?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Cordelia says, turning her attention away from Hurk with a shake of her head. “Look, after all this time, I feel like I understand them well enough to say with certainty that they won’t risk it. They’ve worked so hard to stock their own bunkers and from the size of them, they need a lot more if they’re going to survive their so-called Collapse. If they think for even a second that there is a possibility of us doing that, they’ll listen to me.”

No one seems convinced.

Sharky clears his throat. “Pretty sure the Peggies _and_ the Rezizzy’s already been burning Hope County down for months. I mean, you ever seen what happens when you hit one of their flame-thrower guys just right? That shit burns.”

“Oh, yeah! Like that day in the Valley when you, me, and the Deputy tried the Kellett’s moonshine and went chasin’ those Peggies then _they_ hit that turkey so _we_ threw that --” Hurk’s story gets shut down pretty quickly from the looks Cordelia and Sharky send his way. Hurk nods and looks at the other Resistance members in the room. “He’s right. They burn a lot of shit. Even boating sheds that smell like Thanksgiving.”

“And if they keep going with this reaping shit after I join them, they’ll burn it all down anyway,” Cordelia adds, trying to get attention away from Hurk. “The only difference is I will probably be trapped in one of their bunkers and I won’t be able to do anything to stop them. John basically opened the door for me and let me escape, I don’t think he’d do it again and I _know_ Jacob wouldn’t. There needs to be serious consequences if this is going to work. Or they need to think there are consequences even if we decide we won’t actually follow through.”

No one looks convinced, but a few of them look like they’re considering what it’s said. That’s a start.

“Radio that fucker right now.” Nick’s voice, strong and determined, draws her gaze to him. He’s trying to be as unemotional as Sharky seemingly is but the emotion flickers when the rest of the people in the bar look at him as well.

“Nick, I already said --”

“I know what you said,” he snaps, putting his hand up to stop her. “But we ain’t waitin’ around for them to release the other deputies when they feel like it. If you’re goin’ to his bunker tomorrow, Deputy Hudson’s coming out. Pratt too.”

It’s a risk.

Letting Joey and Pratt out of the bunkers they’re in before negotiation start might be a hard sell. Not impossible though.

But talking to John on the radio while the people closest to her in the county are around to hear him?

Sure, they’ve heard about some of the conversations she’s had with the man, but not all of them.

He’s going to say something stupid that’ll make everything awkward and probably influence that bet Sharky and Adelaide have, the one she’s not supposed to have any idea about.

Everyone’s looking at her expectantly though, like this’ll have some major influence on their opinion of her plan. Maybe it will. She needs them on her side because they’re going to be the ones who are going to sell this whole thing to the rest of the Resistance.

Cordelia fights the urge to roll her eyes as she unclips her radio and tunes it back to John’s frequency. And yeah, she definitely notices the shared looks between a few of people in the room at the fact that she knows his frequency off the top of her head.

“John, I want to talk to you.”

“Deputy!” John greets after a moment. “Two calls in one day? I _knew_ you missed me when you were playing with Jacob.”

“I’d rather play with myself than with either of you, John,” Cordelia replies without thinking. Then she hears Adelaide’s snort and realizes what she just said. She also remembers that she’s not alone like she normally is when she talks to him and there are currently a number of eyes staring at her; the way they stare is different but of it together makes her momentarily close her own eyes.

Maybe she’s the one influencing the bet.

“What can I do for you, Deputy?” John finally says, serious and curt. It feels like he wants to say something, play along with her, toe that line between sexual innuendos and vicious threats that he’s so familiar with, but there’s something holding him back.

But that makes sense.

She’s convened the leaders of the Resistance; it only makes sense that he would go to his brothers to let them know the good word and set up the negotiation. The wayward soul is finally ready to join the Project and she didn’t reach out to Jacob or The Father himself, she reached out to John, and maybe she should have thought more about that. She’s heard the voicemail Joseph left him, John unable to erase it or hide it away somewhere before she stole his home from him. She remembers the conversation he and Joseph had during her baptism, that she _had_ to reach Eden’s Gate or John would be shut out. She’s heard the comments, not just from her friends, about the way John reacts to her. So, for Cordelia to reach out and tell him her decision before his brothers knew, before her friends, before anyone else? Oh, he must have been exhilarated.

Would he still be if she told him that even the thought of talking to Jacob over the radio makes a spike of pain appear at the base of her skull and radiate throughout her head?

Or that she has no idea what frequency is Joseph’s or if he even has a radio because she speaks to him most often when she’s already with one of his siblings?

Cordelia has such a strong urge to say something, but it wouldn’t make sense right now. She tucks the thought away in the back of her mind because she’s sure there will be an appropriate moment.

Hell, if she’s going through with this, she’s probably going to get strapped to that chair and go through the “Atonement” again. Might as well hurt him if he’s going to be hurting her.

“Deputy?” John says again, stretching out the word, letting some of his usual teasing trickle into his tone. There’s the John she knows.

“You have to release Deputy Hudson and Deputy Pratt tomorrow morning,” she replies, choosing to stare at the entrance to the bar instead of at any one of her friends.

“Oh, I _have_ to, do I?”

“You’re getting me in return.”

“And you’re worth more than your two colleagues?” John asks, or maybe the better word is _probes_. She knows what he’s doing, trying to get her to either admit that she thinks that’s true or backpedal so he can drag it out of her later during her confession.

Cordelia exhales, now even more determined not to look at her friends. “Yes.”

The callous laugh he releases feels so close, like he’s right next to her, like it’s just for her ears only, like he’s punishing her for her truthfulness and revelling in it just the same.

Then it stops.

And a chill runs down her spine because she knows. She knows why it stopped and she knows who has the radio before he even opens his mouth.

Joseph Seed is parasite in her brain.

Even worse than Jacob or Faith and that’s saying something.

She would love to blame it on that Bliss hallucination but he’s been inside her since she first opened her eyes and found herself upside in a burning helicopter, his Amazing Grace and Nancy’s cries the only sounds able to cut through the heavy thumping of her heart.

“Cordelia,” Joseph says in a soft voice that does nothing to alleviate how repulsed she feels hearing her name come out of his mouth.

 _Pick a spot on the wall and focus on it_ , she tells herself then immediately ignores it to glance over across the room at the expressions on everyone’s faces. Not a lot of poker players in the room.

“John told us the joyous news,” Joseph continues. There’s something in his tone that could certainly be misinterpreted as jealously. Maybe she chose John to talk to first for another reason entirely. “I had always held hope that you would see the light, even when others weren’t sure.”

There’s a grumbling noise that draws her gaze to a specific person.

Nick is saying something under his breath, everything about him screaming that he either wants her to forget the whole deal or wants to walk out himself. He had wanted to get his family out of here while it was still relatively safe for Kim to fly but she and Cordelia had convinced him to stay and fight. Now one of his closest friends is giving herself over to the very people they had spent the past few months trying to get rid of. Now she’s talking to John and Joseph Seed like everything is normal and they hadn’t been destroying Hope County and ruining lives. Now he can’t fly his very pregnant wife and himself out of the shitshow that is Hope County because of the risk.

 _Yeah_... Cordelia wouldn’t really blame him if he stormed out like Jess had.

“I understand that you have some stipulations that you want to discuss. I am more than --”

“Not over the radio,” Cordelia interrupts. That could not seem more suspicious, a quick glance around the room tells her that. She shakes her head as if that’ll ease everyone’s concerns. Going off expressions, it does not. “I have to look you in eyes. I need to know you’re not lying to me.”

“Have I ever lied to you, Cordelia?”

“John never answered me,” she says, trying to get rid of the nauseous feeling in her stomach that comes from him saying her name.

“Your friends will be released when we are sure that it is safe to do so,” Joseph replies casually, like he’s discussing the weather, not the human beings his siblings kidnapped.

“No fucking way!” Nick exclaims before walking over to her and taking the radio from her before Cordelia has a chance to respond. “You ain’t getting the Deputy then.”

His name is shouted by multiple people in the room but Cordelia’s the only one close enough to grab the radio back from him as she berates him.

“What? You’re gonna walk up to John Seed’s bunker and just hope that if you talk _real_ nice to the Seeds, they’re gonna release your friends?” Nick asks incredulously. “They ain’t gonna let them go once they got you, Dep. You heard the man-bun. ‘ _When it’s safe to do so_ ’ means they ain’t gonna do shit!”

And there’s the storm off she was waiting for.

“Nick, wait!” Kim says even though it’s fruitless. She throws Cordelia a look that manages to be equal parts concern and apology before following him out. “Nick, do you really...”

Whatever the rest of the sentence is gets lost under the sound of a truck engine starting and Kim lowering her voice.

Cordelia said she wouldn’t blame them if they stormed out and she doesn’t. But it is going to be hard to convince the rest of the Resistance that this is a good idea if her friends keep leaving before she convinces _them_.

“It seems that you have other matters to deal with, Cordelia,” Joseph says. The sound breaks the silent tension in the room, but the man responsible brings a whole other level of tension to the surface. “I will discuss the release of your deputies with my brothers and tell you my decision later today.”

The urge to throw her radio is incredibly strong.

It’s only the promise of his later call that makes her slip it back onto her belt.

“That was a waste of time,” Grace says. Her eyes are on the front door and Cordelia’s certain that she’ll be the next one to leave. Not just yet but soon enough. Honestly, Cordelia’s surprised she didn’t follow Jess out before.

“I don’t know,” Adelaide replies with a shrug. “Feel like I got to know a little more about what John and our Deputy get up to over the radio when we’re not around.”

The smirk Adelaide sends her way would make her roll her eyes on any other day, but today, Cordelia welcomes it. It’s a nice reprieve from the hostility that’s settled in the room from the simple sound of Joseph’s voice.

“Nick’s right, Rook,” Whitehorse says, bringing that moment of lightness to an abrupt end. “Hudson and Pratt wouldn’t want you to do this anyway.”

“You’ve seen them recently too, huh?” Cordelia asks bitterly. She finally looks Whitehorse in the eye and immediately wishes she hadn’t. He’d told her to arrest Joseph or put him in the ground, not join him. Cordelia should probably get used to that look; betrayal, pity, and disappointment all rolled up in one. Ignoring the way her throat starts to close up in response, Cordelia narrows her eyes. She’s already cried in front of them once, she’s not going to again; she’d rather bare her teeth instead, that’s easier. “John and Jacob run real five-star resorts, don’t they? I know that I’ve loved every second I’ve spent with them. Can’t imagine what a couple of months must feel like. They must feel like brand new people.”

“They’ve survived so far. They’re strong enough to wait a little longer.”

“You willing to bet their lives on that, Sheriff?”

Whitehorse stares at her for a moment before shaking his head. “You are a fighter, Rook. I know you’ll get ‘em out.”

“Okay. Let me just have a quick chat with Virgil and Burke and then I’ll head straight out.”

It’s a low blow but it seems to get Whitehorse to take a step back from her.

Cordelia doesn’t really know what to say anymore. Her friends have their opinions on her plan and it doesn’t seem like she can get them to change their minds.

She’s about to hop back onto the counter when Wheaty steps over to her and hands over his radio.

“Eli wants a word with you,” is all he says before walking back over to where he was before.

It takes her a second to decide that she wants to have this conversation alone. She doesn’t need anyone else’s input at the moment. Besides, she’s sure the rest of her friends are just dying to talk about this without her around so Cordelia walks out the back door, Boomer following behind her, and keeps going until she finds a tree far enough away and sits down against it. Boomer plops himself down next to her, his head resting on her knee. Her free hand rests on his head, fingers lightly scratching between his ears, as she tries to calm down the rapid beating of her heart.

Before she can bring the radio up to her mouth, she hears a shout from the bar. It’s immediately shushed before she can figure out who it was. There are definitely some options; none of which make her enthusiastic to walk back in once she’s finished talking to Eli. She wouldn’t be surprised if they’re in there planning an intervention for her when she returns, or deciding which is the best bunker to put her in until they can get her to see how fucked this idea is.

“Dep, you there?” Eli’s voice brings her back to reality.

“Uh, yeah, Eli, I’m here,” Cordelia replies, feeling like she’s stumbling over her own tongue.

“I know things are hard. I saw that video of your friend. We’ve been tryin’ to get it off the screens for ya.”

“It’d be more helpful if you could get him away from Jacob.”

“Believe me, if I could, I would.”

“I know.”

Cordelia’s hand moves from Boomer to pick at one of the holes in her jeans instead. She’s pretty sure this one is from the first Bliss arrow she took. Her hands had been shaking as she sat on the couch in the Wolf’s Den, trying so hard to sew it back together and ignore what she had gone through in the hotel. Barely anyone spoke to her; Tammy was so sure that Cordelia was a time bomb and it seemed like everyone else was too. But Cordelia couldn’t face any of her friends at that moment and she was so scared Jacob would be waiting for her the second she left. Eli had come over to her after the fourth time she’d pricked herself as she was trying to swear under her breath and failing spectacularly. He’d been the one to help her and she’d rescued some of his Whitetails to say thank you. If only she’d known then that she would eventually be one of the bodies left at the Devil’s Drop.

“Whitetails don’t give up,” Eli says.

“I’m a Whitetail now?” Cordelia asks with a laugh.

“You’ve been a Whitetail since we dragged you outta the Grand View.”

“Didn’t work, y’know.”

And she’s an idiot.

Such a fucking idiot.

Because she hasn’t told anyone.

When she goes missing in the mountains, she just tells them that Jacob put her in a cage to taunt her. That it was just so Jacob could keep an eye on her. That it was just so Joseph could come to see her and try to coerce her to join them.

And they had believed her because she’s always been good at lying when she needs to.

Nobody could know that she’d been put through Jacob’s trial so many times. More times than she could remember. More times than she was _allowed_ to remember.

Cordelia had stayed there for at least a week one time.

Jacob needed to make sure she was his perfect soldier.

It’s definitely happened more than she thinks it has.

And no one was supposed to know that because no one trusts a person who’s been through Jacob’s conditioning.

Until Cordelia opens her dumb mouth in that moment.

Her head falls against the tree trunk then she moves forward and lightly bangs it against it a few times for good measure as she actually considers the ramifications of what she’s about to say.

_Fuck it._

“He’s in my head,” Cordelia finally says. “They all are. But Jacob... I can’t get him out. I can’t ignore him. He has this song and it makes me... If I do this, maybe I can get him out of my head. I can save everyone and I can get him out of my head and I don’t have to go through any more of his trials.”

“Dep,” Eli sighs. Any other day, the defeated sound might have broken her heart. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You saved my life. You needed help.”

“We’ve got the track we used for Briggs. We could --”

“It didn’t have any effect when I was listening to it with Briggs. What do you think another hour could possibly do?”

“We can figure something else out then.”

“This is it.”

“Dep, --”

“Train, hunt, kill, sacrifice,” Cordelia interrupts, pulling on a loose thread near the hole that immediately starts unravelling. “Pretty sure I’ve gotten up to the sacrifice part, Eli, and I don’t want to find out if that’s a part of me I’m sacrificing or somebody I know. If I do this, I can put a stop to it all. No more Whitetails being taken. No more homes being destroyed. No more having to look over your shoulder to see if Jacob’s found you.”

And she’s so ready for another fight.

Only it never comes.

“Tell me what you need,” Eli says, and this time the defeat in his tone does tug at her a little. Not enough to break her heart, but it would take a lot right now to do that.

“The only way the Peggies stop fighting is if we stop fighting.” Cordelia feels like crying with relief. Instead, she keeps unravelling the thread and making the hole in her jeans just that little bit bigger. “I’ll also need to give an outpost back to them as a peace offering in the negotiations. I’ve been thinking the ranger station.”

“I’ll talk to the Whitetails.”

“Thank you, Eli.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Cordelia.” It’s the last thing Eli says before he ends the call and it sticks with her as she sits with Boomer, trying to block out the shouts still coming from the bar.

She hopes she does too.

* * *

“Okay, so it’s my first week and I’m shitting bricks --”

“Pratt!” Whitehorse’s exasperation seems to radiate from his office.

“Hey, that’s exactly how Dolan described it,” Pratt says with a laugh before he trails off a little, his eyes glancing over to his former partner’s newly occupied desk. Cordelia had heard the basics from Nancy; Dolan went to visit his sister at a saloon she worked at and she helped him walk some path and they found his body a few days later.

“I’m pretty sure he used an adjective,” Joey adds; though from the smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, it seems like it’s more to break Pratt out of his reverie.

“What?” Pratt glances over to her. He shakes his head and his grin comes back, less infectious than it had previously been. “Right. Yeah. So, I’m shitting massive bricks, y’know? Like my hands are shaking and sweaty, and I trip getting out of the car, almost kiss the road. And I walk up to the car we’ve just pulled over and, I shit you not --”

“Pratt!” Whitehorse calls out again.

The three of them ignore him.

“The person behind the wheel is Erna Witt, the 80-year-old librarian who runs the church choir and organizes almost every single church event for Pastor Jerome. The woman who has been driving at 120 mph through the mountains. And she just looks up at me, completely innocent and oblivious, and says ‘ _is there a problem, deputy?_ ’,” Pratt says with a laugh. “And I have no idea what to say because I saw this woman like less than a day ago with her family at the F.A.N.G. Center and at the bake sale the week before and I was expecting some jackass with a complex and here’s this grandma who smells like lavender and drops off brownies at the station when she bakes too many.”

“What’d you do?” Cordelia asks before taking a sip of her coffee.

An embarrassed blush rises on Pratt’s cheeks as he scratches his forehead.

“Tell her,” Joey goads.

“I told her there was a bear roaming the road and it would safer if I drove her home,” Pratt says sheepishly before raising his hands in defence when Cordelia and Joey begin laughing. “I was a rookie. I didn’t want to make her cry; I don’t know how to deal with that. Anyway, when we got to her house, I told her and her husband that it might be better if she didn’t drive anymore.”

“After they fed you and Dolan,” Joey adds, sending a smirk in Cordelia’s direction.

“Hey, she offered! It would have been rude if I hadn’t.”

“Didn’t you call her old too?”

“I said ‘a woman of her age’, that’s not ‘old’.”

“Right, because a ‘woman of her age’ would take that as a --”

Joey’s cut off by the door to the station opening. The three of them look over to see a tired Burke walk in, a takeaway coffee cup in his hand and a stack of files under his arm. He doesn’t even glance over at them, just beelines to Whitehorse’s office.

“I got it!” Burke says. He closes the Sheriff’s door behind him before he continues talking. Whatever is too muffled, but whatever it is makes Whitehorse look visibly pissed off and exhausted, at least that’s what Cordelia thinks as she and the other deputies watch. If Burke knew, he’d probably close the blinds; he’s too preoccupied with the papers he slams down on Whitehorse’s desk.

“He’s gonna retire before New Year’s,” Joey says, pulling her legs under her to get more comfortable on Pratt’s desk. “That is not a man who wants to keep dealing with this shit.”

“If Burke really got it, we _won’t_ have to deal with this shit anymore,” Pratt replies as he walks over to refill his mug. His nose scrunches as he smells the pot. He still pours a cup.

Joey rolls her eyes in response.

“Is it really that bad?” Cordelia asks incredulously.

She’s only been here for a week. She’s broken up a couple of bar fights. She’s given some speeding tickets. She even got a cat out of a fireplace. This “cult” that has been whispered about around the station hasn’t been anywhere near her radar in terms of violence. She’s definitely seen a few of their posters, driven past one of their stores, even listened to one of their sermons on the radio one afternoon when she was trying to unclog her kitchen sink; they’re a little intense, sure, but not violent. The only time she’s even seen one of the main ones, one of the “Family” she’s pretty sure they’re called, is when she was waiting to sign the lease papers for her apartment and he’d waltzed into the real estate agency like he owned it. She’d recognized him from a photo she’d seen of him online at some campaign benefit for some state politician she didn’t know much about, only that he’d managed to win an unwinnable race. The man seemed harmless enough, if a little pretentious and egotistical, as he spoke softly to one of the real estate agents and made her blush.

Joey and Pratt share a glance.

“Yeah, Rook, it really is,” Pratt finally says.

If there was anything else that they wanted to say, they don’t get the chance. The door to the Sheriff’s office opens and Burke walks out hurriedly, Whitehorse trailing behind with a shake of his head as he puts his hat on.

“Time to go. Pratt, you’re piloting. Carnahan, you stick by Hudson; we don’t know what we’re walking into.”

“It’s 2 am, Sheriff,” Burke says as he turns back to them. “What’s the worst we could run into?”

* * *

“Cordelia, honey?” Adelaide’s voice cuts through the memory and brings her back to the present. “We think we’ve figured it out.”

There are a lot more pins on the map than the last time Cordelia looked at it. Maybe there weren’t even pins last time. How long has she been staring blankly at the table and scratching between Boomer’s ears? Clearly long enough for Sharky to have moved closer to her. Wasn’t he standing on the other side of the table next to Hurk before?

“It’s gonna take some convincing to give up some of these outposts,” Whitehorse adds as Cordelia’s standing up to have a look at the map. “But we figure folks’ll get used to it if you can get the Peggies to stop planting those flowers and making that damn Bliss.”

“Oh, nothing too hard then,” Cordelia says with a half-hearted laugh. She rests a hand on the table as the other traces over the map. They have managed to take back almost every single outpost in Hope County. She can remember what happened at every single one of them, how they did it, who was with her. This is what she’s spent weeks of her life thinking about. At first, she would take someone with her to observe the guard patterns, the changeovers, the drop offs and pick-ups. Lately, she’s just been coming up with a plan as they made their way to the outpost and hoping for the best.

“You don’t have to do this, Deputy.” Jerome’s face is too full of compassion for Cordelia to look at him directly. Her hand leaves the top of the table to pat Boomer’s head instead. “We can get a group together to save Deputy Pratt.”

“How many people are you willing to risk?” Her gaze falls back to the map, considering the outposts that her friends have chosen. Cordelia’s finger follows the main road from Sunrise Farm all the way until it reaches the road up to John’s bunker. “Because if we do that, who knows how many people they’ll go after? Just because something happens in the mountains, that doesn’t mean the retaliation is limited to the mountains.”

Her finger taps John’s bunker.

The words die on her tongue but still manage to hang in the air around them.

It’s only when it begins to feel noxious that Cordelia manages to look Jerome in the eye. It stings but at this point, she’s basically numb so she doesn’t wince.

“This is what I’m doing. If not for the Resistance and Joey and Pratt, then for myself,” Cordelia finally says. “I’m not a soldier and I don’t want to keep pretending that I am.”

There’s something about those words that leave a bitter taste in her mouth, but she can’t put her finger on it.

“I think we need to be prepared for the possibility that they want more,” she continues. Taking one of the pens from the table, Cordelia begins putting asterisks next to their other outposts.

“We just got them back, Dep,” Tracey replies, her wariness and annoyance evident in her tone. “And now you just wanna hand them back?”

“Or use them to our advantage,” Cordelia explains. She avoids putting a mark next to the marina and the conservatory. Out of the corner of her eyes, she notices the way tension leaves Adelaide’s body. “The Seeds took people’s money when they joined up, ‘freeing them from their materialism’ or whatever bullshit they were spouting. They had enough money to legally buy up property, which means they have enough money to buy whatever they need.”

“You want to make the Seeds _shop_ for their supplies?” Jerome asks, more amused than incredulous.

“It would get businesses up and running,” she says with a shrug. “What do they need money for, anyway? I mean, if their Collapse really is coming.”

Whitehorse runs his hand along his brow. “That could help get people on board. Not sayin’ it’ll be easy, but it could soften the blow.”

“And you’re sure that you don’t want to just go get the other deputies?” Grace asks, like maybe she just needs to hear the question one more time to change her mind.

“ _Or_ ,” Hurk adds, holding his finger in the air like what he’s about to say is pure genius, “maybe you could be a trojan whore?”

All the heads snapped in Hurk’s direction, but Cordelia was the first person who managed to actually say something. Or, more accurately, splutter out, “Excuse me?”

Hurk’s brow furrows in obvious confusion from the looks being sent at me. “Y’know, like that lady in ancient times. She used her _womanly wiles_ – pretty sure that what they call ‘em – and she seduced all the guards so that all her dudes could sneak in and destroy everything. That’s why there’s condoms named after her, ‘cause she had all that sex and was a total she-hero badass.”

Cordelia blinks.

She turns her head slightly to notice Adelaide’s hand moving up to cover her face.

She turns her attention back to Hurk.

For once today, it’s nice that the silence is for something relatively simple.

“Who would I be having sex with exactly?” Cordelia asks hesitantly. Not the question she had meant to ask, not even any of the words she had been stringing together in her head; she’s going to blame the whiskey she hasn’t had a sip of in an hour and not the ringing in her ears.

“I don’t know.” Hurk frowns, like this plan shouldn’t be all his responsibility. And she wants to scream that there isn’t a plan, but he shrugs and continues before she can open her mouth again. “If you bang John, Mom wins --”

Sharky throws a pen at Hurk’s face shut him up.

“Hey! Just ‘cause you said that it’d only be a --”

Sharky throws another pen at Hurk’s face.

“Stop throwing shit at me! I’m just tryna tell Dep about what yo--”

Sharky takes the pen out of Cordelia’s hand to throw at Hurk’s face.

“If we wanna talk to the rest of the Resistance before Rook walks into the lion’s den, we should head out,” Whitehorse says in an attempt to calm the fight brewing between Sharky and Hurk. The latter looks like he’s ready to leap across the table while the former looks like he’s readying himself for his cousin to do so.

“Agreed,” Jerome replies as he begins to walk out the door. “My ride back to Fall’s End left a while ago, who can help me out?”

“Let’s go, Pastor,” Grace says, starting to follow after him. She stops when she gets to the edge of the table and walks over to Cordelia instead of the front door where Jerome is waiting for her. Grace leans in close, like it’s a secret or maybe she wants to check for any visible signs of a Bliss high. “You change your mind, you radio me. This isn’t your only choice.”

Cordelia doesn’t know what to say. She can’t say anything; there’s a lump in her throat that’s choking her. Instead, she nods her head and gives Grace a pat on the arm that comes off more awkward than agreeing.

All Cordelia can do is watch as her friends leave, one hand giving weak goodbye waves. She doesn’t want to cry again, doesn’t know how much fluid is left in her that isn’t alcohol so she can’t waste a drop.

It’s only after Hurk has finally been pulled out of the bar by Adelaide, muttering something about payback, that Cordelia lets her head fall forward, hands pressing down on the wooden surface of the table. The first few traitorous tears manage to sneak their way through her closed eyelids, but she ignores them.

Ignores the sound of her friends’ conversations in the parking lot.

Ignores the sound of Cheeseburger and Peaches eating their lunches out the back of the bar.

Ignores the feeling of Boomer sitting against her legs.

Ignores the feeling of Sharky hovering close to her.

But, at the same time, she knows she should be cherishing this. All of this.

If everything goes according to plan, she should still be able to see all of them, she’ll just maybe have Peggie bodyguards to watch her and report her every movement to the Seeds.

Of course, if everything had gone according to plan in the first place, Joseph Seed would be sitting in a jail cell right now and she’d be doing something incredibly mundane right now like organising her cupboards or cleaning her car.

“I need to go talk to our friend,” Cordelia says. She keeps her head down for a moment longer, trying to pull all of her emotion back in and bottle them up tight.

“You gonna tell her what you’re doin’?” Sharky asks, tentative.

With a push off of the table, Cordelia’s able to look at Sharky and feel more composed than she has in the last twenty-four hours. “Unless you want me to leave that job to you.”

Sharky’s emphatic head shake is all the answer she really needs, but he gives her a verbal one anyway. “No way in hell are you leavin’ me to deal with that shit.”

And that’s apparently the last of the conversation as Sharky walks straight out the door to his car. Cordelia gives a whistle, not needing to check if Cheeseburger and Peaches heard it because they always do, before following after him, Boomer trailing behind ever faithfully.

Being back in Sharky’s car reminds her of their morning earlier, of the yelling and the crying, and it’s obvious from Sharky’s momentary tense that he is too. But he shakes it off before she can say anything – and, really, what _would_ she say? – and turns on the radio at full blast.

As they drive, ignoring the memory that lingers around them, Cordelia notices Cheeseburger running through the trees, keeping pace with them but never once considering doing so stealthily. It’s the exact opposite for Peaches, who Cordelia _knows_ is following along but won’t let them know that until they reach where they’re going.

Which they do in record speed. Then again, they’re not being chased by a Peggie patrol, or a Chosen airplane, or a Chosen helicopter, or some Angels who caught their scent.

And maybe she’d been hoping for a little more time to think about what she was going to say because this is wholly different to telling her friends.

Getting out of the car, Sharky turns his attention back to her. “I’m gonna watch a movie with Boomer. Call me if you need me.”

Cordelia can only nod in response; she’s too focused on trying to figure out wording even though she knows nothing will be good enough. She just has to be honest.

_Because that’s worked out so well today._

With a sigh, Cordelia gets out of the car and walks over to the bunker hatch. Every voice in her head, the one she knows is her only inner voice and the Seed parasites buried in there that she needs to get rid of, scream at her to walk away and forget about this particular problem. But she wouldn’t be forgetting about it, she’d just be passing it off to someone else and she can’t do that. After a long glance around the surrounding area, Cordelia leans down to do the secret knock on the hatch before opening it.

Every step down the ladder feels like it’s tightening her throat even more until her feet hit the floor and she actually needs take in another deep breath to calm the thumping in her head.

“I didn’t think you were coming for a couple more days,” the voice says from behind her.

Cordelia attempts to steel herself before she turns on the spot and looks at the woman formerly known as Faith Seed. The outfit curated from Cordelia and Sharky’s wardrobes is a far cry from the white lace she once wore. As she takes a step forward, Cordelia notices the way one of her hands stays against her side.

“I didn’t know you’d changed your hair,” Cordelia replies lightly.

Her hand motion to the hair makes the woman smile and bring her own free hand up to run through the short, ginger locks. “Oh, yeah. Sharky found some old hair dye in one of the trailers. Figured it would help me not look like... _Faith_.”

Cordelia mirrors the woman’s smile and moves further into the bunker, even though a voice tells her to hang close to the exit. “Any idea on what you want your new name to be?”

“Nope,” the redhead answers as she sits down. Her relief is obvious, even if she tries to cover it as quickly as it appears. “Sharky’s just been calling me Red. I like that for now. Besides, it’s not like I’m going anywhere or talking to anyone who needs to know anything real about me.”

“If anyone knew anything real about you, you wouldn’t be here,” Cordelia says, leaning against the door frame.

“And you wouldn’t either,” Red bites back. Faith was a liar, a manipulator. Her words were laced with venom when she wanted them to be or when the mask slipped; that didn’t disappear with the new makeover as much as Red wanted it to appear like it did. Even when the smile spreads across her lips once more, the ire in Red’s eyes stays there and she knows that Cordelia can see that. Still, she continues with the charade, flattens out the non-existent creases in Sharky’s borrowed hoodie, and gives that same sweet smile Faith once did as she asks, “Did you need to know more about the bunker, Cordelia?”

As it turns out, she doesn’t like _any_ of the Seeds saying her name, even former ones.

Resisting the urge to visibly react, Cordelia crosses her arms and shakes her head. Red had already given enough information about her bunker, its key features and weaknesses, that Cordelia and Sharky had pretended to stumble upon. If there was anything else, the Resistance would get suspicious. They already had questions about how Cordelia knew where the majority of Bliss flower seeds were stored.

“Jacob’s threatening to starve Pratt.” Cordelia’s shocked that the words come out so clearly when her throat feels like it’s beginning to close again. She inhales, like that’ll do anything, before she continues with, “I’m going to negotiate with Joseph tomorrow, become a Peggie, and hopefully save everyone.”

Laughter wasn’t one of the highest reactions she was expecting from Red, but she knew there was a small possibility.

“You’re going to give Joseph exactly what he wants,” Red says with another laugh, only this one is more vitriolic than the previous ones.

“You’re the one who said it was me who decides what happens,” Cordelia responds, her tone more defensive than she thought she was.

Red rolls her eyes and leans further back on the couch. “I was also bleeding out and thought I was about to die.”

“Was it a lie?”

They both know the answer.

“I’m not going to tell them you’re alive,” Cordelia says when Red’s unease becomes apparent.

“You think you know but you don’t. You have no idea what it’s like actually talking to them.” Red’s voice is raising to the same manic tone she’d had when Cordelia had gained the upper hand in their fight. “And if you’re joining them, you’re going to have to go through the Confession and John’s going to ask you about me if the Joseph hasn’t already.”

Cordelia uncrosses her arms and takes a step toward Red only to stop when she notices the way the other woman flinches. She raises her hands and explains, “I’m going to tell them that Faith Seed is dead. That’s the truth, isn’t it?”

“They’ll find out,” Red insists.

“Not from me.”

The watery eyes, the fearful expression; it reminds Cordelia so much of that moment in the Bliss, when Faith was reaching out for her, when Cordelia made the call to Sharky. Every fibre of her being had told her to just leave Faith, that she was the reason Virgil and Burke were gone, the reason there were Angels and Bliss and death in the Henbane. But all she could think of were the other Faiths, the letters she had found scattered around the region, and that was how she’d explained it to Sharky later on when they were staring at the unconscious Faith in his bunker. All she had said when she had first called him after the fight, as she desperately tried to keep Faith alive, was that she’d done something stupid and that was enough to get him to come to her.

“I told you I’d give you a fresh start if you showed me you could change,” Cordelia says, taking another smaller step towards Red.

Red nods, blinking away her tears, and giving Cordelia a moment to breathe. In another life, one where Cordelia didn’t have as much blood on her hands, that promise would’ve been a lie. Telling the woman formerly known as Faith Seed that she’d get her freedom would have been one of the best lies to keep her in one place until back-up arrived. _But_ it’s been four months, whatever back-up they could’ve had is obviously not coming and Cordelia knows that but she needs to know _how_ the Seeds managed that. Red has no idea, or _is_ an amazing liar, Cordelia’s not sure.

“They’re not going to let it be easy,” Red states, using her sleeve to wipe away any evidence of her crying. “Not after what you’ve done.”

“Let’s hope they don’t kill me,” Cordelia jokes, or tries to before she sees the look on Red’s face and her own expression drops.

“Just be careful.”

Ignoring the way the words make her apprehension bubble back up, Cordelia walks into the bathroom to rifle through the medical supplies she and Sharky had hoarded. “I should check your stitches before I go. I know Sharky gets too nervous to check properly.”

It’s just supposed to be something to get rid of the anxious energy coursing through her. As it turns out, examining Red’s wounds and how they’re healing ends up being the perfect way to shut off the certain loud parts of her brain vying for her full attention. Cordelia loses track of how much time she spends down there, something she never normally does, as she and Red talk about nothing in particular. She assumes Red needs the company, whether it’s actually loneliness or just to shut her brain off from thoughts of the Project.

By the time she finally leaves the bunker, the sun is beginning to set. Cordelia can hear the movie Sharky’s been watching, if it is even the same movie he put on when they first got back. Her assumption that he hasn’t only been watching the movie is proven when she spots a figure behind a curtain disappear. Of course, when she walks into his house, Sharky’s sitting on the couch, one hand resting on his stomach, the other holding a beer, and Boomer laying at his feet. If he didn’t look slightly winded, she’d probably believe that he’d been sitting there the whole time.

Cordelia plops down beside him and takes his beer. It’s lukewarm and a little flat, but it’s better than nothing.

“She okay with it?” Sharky asks, trying so hard to be the picture of casual.

“Wouldn’t change anything if she wasn’t,” Cordelia replies before taking another sip. She was wrong, this isn’t better than nothing.

Sharky’s gaze follows her on her walk to his fridge. Whatever questions or comments he’s dying to make stay locked away.

“You gonna stay here tonight?” is what he ends up asking after she sits back down and gives him a new beer.

Cordelia waits until she’s finished a third of the bottle before she replies, “That okay?”

“‘Course it is,” Sharky says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Figured you wouldn’t wanna go back to your place and deal with Mary May.”

She takes another sip of her beer in lieu of an actual verbal response. It’s true after all. Ever since she moved into Mary May’s spare room she’s spent a lot of her free nights at the Spread Eagle, staying up past the bar’s closing, talking about everything and nothing with the blonde. On more than one occasion, Cordelia’s watched Mary May throw darts at a photo of John from one of the Project pamphlets that they sent out pre-chaotic destruction and mayhem spree. Last time she checked, there were four of them that were absolutely unrecognisable. They always talked about doing it to one of his billboards but they never managed to; now Cordelia’s probably going to be tasked with cleaning them.

The rest of the night passes by too quickly for her liking. Every finished drink and pizza slice and movie feels like another step towards the gallows. There are certain moments where she tries to slow reality down so she can breathe and commit every detail to memory, but then the smoke detector starts beeping or one of the animals growls at something outside and then time speeds back up again. The Guy Marvel marathon Sharky prepared is enough that she doesn’t think about Jess, or Nick, or Mary May, or any other friend. Then the credits roll and Sharky jumps off the couch and she sees her reflection in the tv and it all hits her.

This is what she wants.

This is what she’s doing.

Then she remembers what was said in the bar and her resolution wavers.

Because they’re right. She has a choice. She has people who can help her. This is a bad idea. They can still save everyone.

But Pratt’s still starving somewhere because of her. He’s still screaming out for someone to help him. They can’t save him in time. So, this is what she has to do, right?

Cordelia reminds herself to stop drinking when she knows she’s reached the tipping point between an okay next morning and a hangover. All that does though is leave her with all of the thoughts buzzing around in her head because she can’t block them out with anything. Not that Sharky doesn’t try his absolute hardest with the running commentary throughout every single movie.

Eventually though, she finds herself crawling into Sharky’s bed, unable to sleep, even with Boomer laying beside her and Sharky’s almost melodic snores reverberating from the couch. She tries to tell herself that she needs to sleep well to be prepared for whatever shit the Seeds throw her way tomorrow but that doesn’t work. Nor does remembering any of the worst movies she’s seen.

And just when Cordelia thinks she’s finally ready, pillow in the right position, blanket curled around her, Pratt’s screams locked away somewhere for the next hour, it hits her.

Joseph never radioed her back.

“Mother--”

* * *

“—fucker.”

The first thing Cordelia notices as she’s coming back to consciousness is the pain blooming at the back of her head. Straggly hit _hard_.

The second thing she notices is that she’s tied to a chair, which is something she’s fucking sick of. This has to be the fifth time she’s woken up tied to something.

It takes some motivating but she manages to raise her head enough to look around. She knew she was in some room in John’s bunker, so the décor is no surprise, but the fact that she’s alone is. Until she spots the camera in the corner of the ceiling, red light blinking away. The fact that she can’t flip them off immediately is unsatisfying.

They knocked her out, brought her into the bunker, and tied her down.

Fuck them if they think they’re going to have the control in this situation, if they think she’s going to let them.

Even though her head screams at her not to, Cordelia sits up straight and looks directly at the camera.

“Eight hours,” she says clearly, ignoring the way the pain is starting to radiate and make her feel nauseous. “The Resistance doesn’t get an update on the negotiations within eight hours of me showing up here, they go after everything you’ve still got. How much do you like your compound, Joe?”

It’s a total lie, she didn’t even think about putting anything like that in place, but there’s conviction in her tone and body language that she thinks is heightened because of her anger.

Cordelia’s jaw tenses briefly as she maintains eye contact with the camera. There is definitely bile making its way up. “I don’t know how long I’ve been out. It’s probably time to give me a radio.”

When nothing happens, she takes a breath. It would be so easy to yell until she’s hoarse, she’s sure they would love to see it. She’s also sure that if she showed how much the pain was affecting her, they would be delighted. But she is not giving them the satisfaction.

Instead, she smiles at them and says, “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

It’s a bad idea, she knows, but she’s knocked her head so many times since that night, what’s one more?

So, she slowly starts rocking her chair, testing which direction will get the best results, and starts counting down from thirty.

It’s when she’s reached twenty, when the rocking has gotten faster and she’s starting to consider the possibility that they’re actually going to let her try to knock herself out, that the nauseous feeling comes back. Cordelia ignores it by reminding herself of all the crazy shit she’s managed to survive so far. What’s one small bump on the head compared to multiple vehicle crashes?

“Ten... Nine... Eight... Sev--” Cordelia’s countdown and rocking is interrupted by the door opening.

Her attention shifts from the camera just in time to see John walk in, followed by Jacob, followed finally by Joseph. And all of that apprehension she’d been feeling leading up to this, the volatile mixture of emotions she’s been struggling with for the past day, it all slips away. Her first real response before she can stop herself is to smile; it’s wide and ridiculous and uncontrollable and clearly not what any of the Seeds were expecting.

“Wow,” Cordelia says, sounding something close to delirious, especially when she lets out a small laugh. “The three of you, me tied to a chair, _and_ a camera? I don’t have to get Adelaide a birthday present for the next two years.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a deputy, a cult leader, a soldier, and a lawyer walk walk into a room to negotiation...
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	3. to transcend a circumstance...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Was the rope really necessary?”
> 
> “I’ve watched you spread your wrath across the county. I’ve seen what you’ve done to our outposts, to my children, to my _statue_ ,” Joseph replies, and by the way ‘statue’ is uttered, Cordelia knows that’s not something he’s getting over any time soon; she has to bite her tongue to stop herself from reacting visibly. He smiles at her again, but this time, it’s too much. It’s the fake, charming smile she assumes he gives when he’s trying to not look like a psychopath running a cult. “It was a precaution.”
> 
> Cordelia forces herself to not roll her eyes. “Joseph, I’m flattered you think I could take out all three of you before you could react, but we’re not starting a negotiation while I’m tied to a fucking chair.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm genuinely shocked that there have been over 100 views of this fic so thank you so much for taking the time to read this!
> 
> This took me much longer than I was expecting it to, ended up being longer than I expected it to be, and I still don't know how I feel about it. Hopefully, there aren't too many mistakes and the characters sound like they're in character.
> 
> Warnings: a lot of swearing, a discussion about not touching unconscious people, and a discussion about what the Deputy did with Faith because the Seeds definitely (?) believe she's dead.

“ _So_...” Cordelia says, drawing out the word as her gaze drifts over the three of them. Jacob’s impassive, John’s trying to be impassive, and Joseph’s giving her that ‘I’m a compassionate, passionate man of God’ look like he’s about to start preaching to her. But none of them seem to have even cracked a smile at her joke and that makes her miss the Resistance already; she knows she would’ve made at least a few of them laugh. “ _Was_ the rope really necessary?”

That, at least, makes Joseph smile. He takes a seat in the chair opposite her. It’s the only other chair in the room, but she knows that’s deliberate. Just like the night she walked into the church, the way that Jacob, John, and Faith had moved from their original spots to stand behind Joseph, a display of strength.

“I’ve watched you spread your wrath across the county. I’ve seen what you’ve done to our outposts, to my children, to my _statue_ ,” Joseph replies, and by the way ‘ _statue’_ is uttered, Cordelia knows that’s not something he’s getting over any time soon; she has to bite her tongue to stop herself from reacting visibly. He smiles at her again, but this time, it’s _too_ much. It’s the fake, charming smile she assumes he gives when he’s trying to _not_ look like a psychopath running a cult. “It was a precaution.”

Cordelia forces herself to not roll her eyes. “Joseph, I’m flattered you think I could take out all three of you before you could react, but we’re not starting a negotiation while I’m tied to a fucking chair.”

There’s a moment where Joseph just stares at her.

That turns into two.

Then three.

Then she thinks about how she _could_ probably continue this little staring contest if this is what he wants to do. It seems counterproductive, but she’s also tied to a chair so it’s not like she has anything better to do.

John will be the one who shows weakness first. Jacob can probably stand still for hours at a time; she doubts John has that same doggedness.

Cordelia will be fine if Joseph just wants to stare at her, scrutinize her like he hasn’t done so every other time one of his siblings has had her detained. Every other time she’s been too preoccupied with the situation, either nauseous from hunger pains or too wrecked from the Bliss, for her to actually be able to look at him properly. The last time really was when he told her there was no one coming for her and even then, she was dealing with a concussion and fear and adrenaline, and that was a mixture that made it hard for her to look at him properly.

Maybe she can see why so many people flock to Joseph, at least from a basic appearance stand point, but how do they not see the intensity in his eyes? Or _is_ that why they like him? There’s definitely something about them that draws a person in; she knows that’s not a good thing.

When Joseph’s gaze starts to make that chill run up her spine and hit the back of her neck, Cordelia turns her attention to the other brothers instead. Both are still giving her that impassive expression, one better than the other.

She so wishes she could’ve heard their discussion about this, about her choice to join the Project to save everyone; honestly, she would’ve given every penny she’s found in Hope County to know what _that_ was like.

“Jacob,” Joseph finally says, coolly.

Without being explicitly being told what to do, Jacob still knows what Joseph’s asking of him. There’s the briefest furrowing of his brow before Jacob acquiesces and moves around the table to start undoing the knots.

“I’d take out you first,” Cordelia informs, not even trying to be subtle, as she turns her head in Jacob’s direction and smiles at him. “In case you were wondering.”

And she really does expect a reaction.

She _wants_ one.

She knows she’s supposed to be here on a mission of peace. But there’s something that’s just so damn enticing about poking the bear.

Only Jacob doesn’t give her one.

Sure, he pulls on the ropes a little roughly and gives her the minutest glare, but then the impassiveness takes over again and he’s the good soldier. For a second, it does take her by surprise. _Then_ she remembers that night at the Veterans' Center and the way Jacob had stood up straighter when Joseph turned to him, and that night by the river when John blanched the second he heard Joseph’s voice.

 _Oh_ , she could have some fun with this.

Scratch that, she _is_ going to have some fun with this.

And maybe, just maybe, she would have let this opportunity slide, but she did get knocked unconscious and she did wake up tied to a chair in an underground bunker so really, this is the least she can do.

Cordelia rubs her wrists when they’re finally free and shakes out her shoulders. The Seeds – and by Seeds, she means Joseph because John and Jacob are definitely there to be seen but not heard at this current point in time – seem content to let her take her time. So, that’s exactly what she does.

She takes her time to stretch out her muscles, even stands up from the chair which earns her a glare from Jacob and as much as she wants to try something just to see the reaction, Cordelia knows better. When she’s finally finished, when she no longer feels as rigid, she sits back down, trying her best to look like the prim and proper woman her grandmama always wanted her to be.

“You know,” Cordelia says, breaking the silence in the room. “When your enemy offers to come and talk to you unarmed, it’s polite _not_ to knock them out.”

Joseph smiles, too wide to be genuine. “I agree. The person responsible will face consequences for their actions.”

Unable to stop herself, Cordelia’s gaze momentarily flicks to John. It’s almost imperceptible the way his jaw clenches before he nods, noticing Joseph’s half-turn in his direction. “His momentary lapse in judgement has served as a warning for how pervasive our sins can be.”

“Glad I could be a teachable moment for you,” Cordelia replies softly, bringing her hand up to the back of her head. It’s more of a show, the sharp inhale and wince, as she touches where she was hit. Sure, it hurts like a bitch and her eyes are still having trouble focusing properly, but this isn’t about that; this is about seeing which will burst first, John or the vein on his forehead.

“Cordelia, if you need some time to heal,” Joseph begins, his hand reaching out to touch the one she has on the table. It makes her skin crawl, the feeling of him touching her, comforting her, and she thinks it’s a miracle that she doesn’t immediately recoil at the contact. “We would be more than happy to give you a day to recover.”

Jacob grunts, which immediately draws her attention. So much for seen and not heard. Even if he doesn’t actually say anything, the grunt speaks volumes.

“I’ll survive,” Cordelia says, trying to gently pull her hand from Joseph’s. When that fails, she pretty much just yanks it before trying to cover her action by bringing her hand up to her hair in what she hopes looks like a nervous tic. From Joseph’s expression, it fails spectacularly but she keeps it up anyway by running her fingers through her hair again.

Joseph gives her another smile and says, “That is one of your finer qualities.”

“Oh, is that why you keep sending people after me? You like my finer qualities?” Cordelia asks, thoughtlessly, because while she intends for it to be snarky, there’s definitely an undercurrent of flirtation that has no fucking place in any conversation she has with this man. And, much to her chagrin, he definitely notices as do the other Seeds and if their so-called Collapse happened right now, she would feel grateful. She’s blaming that dusty bottle of Kellett moonshine and Adelaide Drubman for this.

In an effort to save herself from whatever Joseph’s about to say, Cordelia sticks her hand out and says, “Give me your radio.”

“Excuse me?” Joseph replies.

“I need to make sure Joey and Pratt were actually let go.”

“You don’t trust us?”

Her grandmama would not be pleased with the snort Cordelia lets out. “I have a head wound that’s telling me to say fuck no.”

John’s sharp inhale draws her gaze. There’s something on the tip of his tongue and his jaw is working overtime to stay shut and, _oh_ , how she wants to poke and poke and poke some more. But then Joseph’s hand is behind him, a silent request for something, and John’s able to focus on his task and not whatever comment he’s dying to make.

She trails his movement with her eyes, watches him leave the room, and stares out the open door. It’s a bland hallway, nothing remotely unique or recognizable about it. Something tells her they have her on an entirely different level than the one she’d been on the last time she was brought here. It’s smart; even if she goes back on her word, manages to take all three of them out, and escape from the room, Cordelia will still be absolutely fucked if she tries to find a way out.

The back of her neck prickles as Joseph watches her. The warmth of his smile, the warmth of his eyes, his general façade of support and comfort is trying to probe her without having to ask a single question. She’s sure he has dozens, sure the other two do as well, but he knows none of them are being answered until she gets what she wants and maybe he’s not so sure about that anymore.

Jacob’s watching her too, though his stare seems more defensive and wary than interrogatory. Then again, he has watched her go through who the fuck knows how many trials by now, has probably got his own cameras in the mountains to watch her decimate his shit. If he was smart, he’d have put something into his little programming shit that made it impossible for her to attack any of the Seeds. He didn’t. She knows he didn’t because otherwise Faith would still be alive, unless he didn’t actually consider her a Seed.

Cordelia keeps her gaze on the exit. There’s no more running, she’s tired of running, but it’s a nice reminder that there is something outside of this room. Something that isn’t them, isn’t this fucking cult, isn’t this fucking county.

She hates them.

She hates them so fucking much.

And she knows that buried deep down under layers and layers of herself, she is terrified of Joseph and Jacob, and she hates herself for that.

Her brief moment of escapism is seized when John reappears, CB radio in his hands, and whatever annoyance was just on his face immediately drops when he’s back in the presence of his brothers. He places the radio on the table, directly between her and Joseph, before returning to where he was previously standing, arms folding across his chest once again.

Cordelia tries to lose herself in fiddling with the CB, trying to find the exact frequency she needs, but the weight of the eyes on her does start to feel crushing. It takes everything not to glare up at them, but she reminds herself that the radio is more important than them.

When she finally finds it, she brings the microphone up to her mouth and says, more tentatively than she expected, “Sharky, are you there?”

Every second that there’s no response sends a wave of nausea through her.

A thousand thoughts and questions rush through her brain as the seconds tick by.

It’s all too fast for her to grasp onto any coherent sentences; it’s just a jumble of words.

Ruse.

Ambush.

Fight.

Dead.

Example.

Fuck.

Fuck.

_Fuck._

“ _Ho-ly shit_ , _Dep!_ ” Sharky’s holler through the radio makes her grin, too wide, too joyful, and too familiar for any of the Seeds to be allowed to see. Cordelia quickly shuts that down, but from her short glance up in their direction, it hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Joey told me what that asswipe Peggie did. Hurky and me, we’ve been coming up with a plan to get in there. We even started making Cheeseburger some armor with the scrap metal here, ‘cause I know he’s big and all and can take a hit but we knew if somethin’ happened to him, we’d be safer if we just left ya down there... Not that I would, Dep! I’m ready to be a one-man army, just kickin’ and blas--”

“Sharky!” Cordelia interrupts, a little louder than necessary. Normally she wouldn’t have let Sharky go on for as long but John and Jacob’s obvious annoyance was too enjoyable.

He seems a little thrown, but still asks “Yeah?”

“Joey and Pratt are safe?”

The tension in her chest floats away when Sharky answers, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “Yeah, o’ course, they are. They’re not, like, okay... Mountain Daddy and the Billboard Baby really fucked ‘em up. Seriously, Cordy, you need to hear some of the shit Pratt’s been sayin’. It’s like, wow, how is _this_ the same guy who busted me twice for pissin’ outside the Hollyhock Saloon?” Then, like he senses her concern, Sharky splutters and immediately tries to ease her worries. “But, like, it is the guy. _He’s_ the guy. We got them safe. It’s all good, chica. You did good. Are you all good?”

As much as she wants to tell him the whole truth, her present company makes that impossible so she settles for part of it.

“I’m good,” she answers. Then, because she’s feeling petty or spiteful or terrified or a combination of those, she adds, “If you don’t hear from me in the next 48 hours, you need to get everyone to do what we talked about.”

Sharky doesn’t say anything.

He can’t have forgotten.

The whole argument they had prior to the rest of their friends arriving at the bar.

The whole argument they had _with_ the rest of their friends at the bar.

Sure, it was their plan for if the negotiations fail, not if she just couldn’t get to a radio, but if she’s not getting to a radio again sometime in the next two days, then the negotiations have failed and she’s either dead or an Angel or brainwashed or who the fuck knows.

“48 hours,” Sharky finally repeats. “Look, Cord, we gotta talk ab--"

“I gotta go, Sharky,” is all she can say before she puts the microphone on top of the radio and turns it off. She’s not sure whatever he was about to say would be okay for any of the Seeds to hear; it’s bad enough that they heard the nicknames. Her skin already crawls when Joseph uses her name, she doesn’t want him to know that she does actually have other nicknames besides Dep and Rook. Actually, she doesn’t want him to know anything about her, but that’s out of the window with the whole joining the cult and going through Confession thing.

When she finally manages to draw her attention back to the Seeds, she’s not at all surprised to find them looking at her.

“Are you satisfied?” Joseph asks, nodding his head at the CB.

“Now that you’ve given me a weapon, sure,” Cordelia replies. Her gaze flicks up to Jacob just to watch his jaw clench and doesn’t that bring a smile to her face.

“You don’t want to give my brother an excuse you tie you down again, Cordelia.” Joseph’s tone is light as he says it, but the threat is there; he doesn’t even try to hide it.

But she still really wants to poke the bear, so she winks at Jacob, who doesn’t find that as amusing as she does.

“You said there were conditions for you joining our family,” Joseph continues, ignoring her antics.

“For joining the _Project_ ,” she clarifies, because that’s definitely important.

He gives her that smile again. “The Project is our family.”

“Uppercase or lowercase F?” Cordelia asks. When Joseph’s only response is an inquisitive head tilt, she rolls her eyes. “Yes, there are conditions.”

Joseph motions for her to continue, before resting his elbows on the table, his chin coming to rest on his clasped hands.

And this is it.

This is the moment she’s been waiting for. She knows everything that she talked about with her friends, what would make the Resistance more agreeable to this truce.

She knows all of that, and yet, what comes out of her mouth first is, “That brainwashing, Darwinian bullshit in my head? I want it out.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” Joseph says, sparing a glance over his shoulder to meet Jacob’s eyes. “If the Resistance gives up all their guns.”

Cordelia snorts again. “I think even God would have trouble getting them to do that. They keep their guns.”

“This is non-negotiable. The violence that has been caused. The blood that has been spilled --”

“Would not have happened if your _faithful_ hadn’t brought down our helicopter,” Cordelia interjects. From the look on his face, this is not something that happens to Joseph; she’ll have to remember that expression when she feels like shit.

“They were protecting me.”

“Unless what I’ve heard about him is all bullshit, John would’ve gotten you released in a day or two.” She looks up at John and tilts her head. “Or are you actually a shitty lawyer, who just uses his looks and big vocabulary to confuse people, John?”

John takes a breath, uses it to pretend he’s indignant when he’s really looking to Joseph for permission to speak. Maybe he is indignant, they all are to some degree, but she knows she’s the least scary one in the room to him. When he gets the permission, the lack of any gesticulation or verbal confirmation apparently confirmation in itself, John’s gaze turns to her. He smiles, the one she assumes he has sometimes when they talk over the radio, the one that’s equal parts menacing and charming, and says, “A good lawyer can use his looks and big vocabulary to confuse people too.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Cordelia says, nodding her head in understanding. “So, one of them taught you how.”

As John’s mouth opens, a retort ready to go, Joseph’s hands unclasp; the one closest to Johns rises slightly off the table in a stop gesture while the other comes up to rub his own chin.

_Killjoy._

“I cannot allow the Resistance to keep their guns,” Joseph states, like that’s the last he’ll hear about it.

It takes a lot of effort for her not to roll her eyes. Instead, Cordelia leans back in her chairs and crosses her arms. “Then I guess we’ll have a nice little gun burning party for the Resistance and the Project, because there’s no way in hell _you_ get to keep yours.”

Joseph shakes his head. She’s not sure if it’s his apparent disappointment or the way he feels like a parent scolding their child that pisses her off more. Maybe it’s the fact that when he opens his mouth, he says, “We need to keep ours for safety. We won’t use them for violence.”

“Neither will the Resistance. _Unless_ they’re threatened by the Project,” Cordelia replies. Her voice staying calm and unwavering is something she’s proud of; a little surprised by, definitely, but proud of nonetheless. Then she shrugs, which she thinks is better than rolling her eyes, and the calmness starts to sound more shit-stirrer-y than it probably should. “I feel like we’re all forgetting that _you_ were the one who stood on the hood of that car and yelled ‘ _begin the Reaping!_ ’. Everybody got a lot more aggressive after that little announcement.”

“Cordelia --” Joseph starts, but she really does enjoy the expression on his face when she interrupts him so she just has to. It’s all about finding joy in the smallest of things.

“Everybody keeps their weapons. If someone on _either_ side breaks the peace, _we_ will figure out an appropriate punishment for them,” she says, before adding, in the spirit of negotiation, “Sound good?”

Joseph just stares at her. It’s unnerving and while she’s glad she’s not starting to get used to it, his silence means that this whole negotiation is going to take longer and her ass is already starting to feel numb.

She moves forward to lean against the table instead, elbows pressed against it, arms crossed once again. Then she remembers the whole body language thing and the two other Seeds, who are basically just watching and analyzing her, and decides to uncross them. “People are resourceful. Even if you take away the Resistance’s weapons, they’ll make new ones. Sharky and Hurk had to make a shovel launcher for me after they lost a bet; it’s temperamental and not safe to use at all, but when it works, it _works_.”

His eyes narrow as he inhales slowly. _This_ is the man from the video; the man who pushed his thumbs into another man’s eyes and didn’t stop until his own hands were covered in blood. Then that man disappears, and Joseph nods his head before saying, “The punishment will not be light.”

“As long as no one is exempt,” Cordelia replies, pointedly looking up at Jacob then John.

“Understood.”

And even though Joseph says that and John and Jacob follow his lead, she _knows_ that there’s a lot going through their heads at that exact moment, can tell from their eyes, their jaws, their stance.

Poke.

Poke.

Poke.

Then she decides to be merciful, for the moment, and reaches into her back pocket, only to find it empty. That mercy she’d been feeling evaporates, anger fills the space instead. If only looks could kill, but sadly, John Seed is still standing there, the picture of confused innocence.

“ _Who_?” the word barely manages to make its way past her clenched teeth.

She wishes she could enjoy the way he looks to Joseph for permission, but all she sees is red. John raises his hands, still trying to play the honorable herald. “We had to make sure you were unarmed.”

“By feeling up the unconscious woman?” Cordelia asks, her fists balling. She doesn’t miss Jacob’s glance at the CB radio. Not that he really has to worry, she’ll probably throw it at the wall before one of them. _Probably_.

“I can assure you, it was purely professional,” John answers. Then, she guesses because he likes to poke too, John adds, “It’s not like this is the first time you’ve been checked while you were unconscious.”

It might just be a miracle that Jacob manages to grab the radio before she does, her hands slamming down on an empty space as she climbs the table. John is more amused than anything, but does take the smallest step away from her. Joseph, to his credit, is calm, unfazed by the moment.

Cordelia takes a breath, looks down at herself – at the one knee perched on the table edge, at the tense hands trying and failing to grip the table top – then pushes herself off the table so she can sit back in her chair. Her calming down is helped exponentially by Jacob’s not so subtle reminder that he has rope.

So, doing her best impression of her grandmama, minus the ‘Bama drawl, Cordelia straightens herself out and smiles. Her tone is cloying as she says, “Tell me who did it and _let_ them know that they’re about to lose at least one of their hands.”

“I believe we agreed to no more violence, Cordelia,” Joseph responds. It’s not a real calm, what he’s showing her right now; it’s calculated and sickening just like hers.

“That was before I found out that someone’s been grabbing my ass while I’m unconscious, Joseph.”

Joseph raises his hands before clasping them together and she knows whatever he’s about to say is something scripture related. He only proves her point as he recites, “You have heard that it was said, ‘an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth’. But I say to you, do not resist the one who is evil. But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also.”

“If I find out they slapped me on the ass, Joseph,” Cordelia says, leaning across the table with a fake sweet smile. She knows he’s not speaking literally but the way his eyes briefly search hers, to see if she does indeed know, brings her a little happiness and she needs that; she got groped by a Peggie. “You’re gonna have a eunuch in the Project.”

Joseph sighs and, boy, does that sound like victory to her. “John, who was given the task of checking Deputy Carnahan for weapons?”

There’s a pause, almost like John’s trying not to squirm, before he answers, “Michael St. James.”

“I will have a talk with him,” Joseph says to her, like that’s the end of the discussion, but they all know it’s not.

“ _I_ will have a talk with him,” Cordelia replies.

“Your talk will involve bloodshed.”

“100%.”

“Which is why I will have a discussion with him, and he will apologize for any perceived offence.”

“And then I get a knife and have my own discussion with him about the _actual_ offence,” Cordelia clarifies then wiggles her finger between the three Seeds. “And you get whoever else has done this before to me and other unconscious people and I have a few more discussions and everyone goes home enlightened.”

“With the way you’ve been destroying the county, I’m sure you’ve met quite a few of them already,” Joseph says, venomously.

Maybe he’s done trying to play the role he shows the rest of them. Maybe she’s finally poked enough. She’s honestly not sure whether that’s a good thing or not.

“We can do this all day, Cordelia, or we can discuss this,” Joseph continues, reaching into his own back pocket to pull out her map. He lays it out on the table. There are new markings on it; they were busy while she was out.

She starts to stand up, only for Jacob to take a step toward her. The CB radio was put on the ground at some point when she was focused on Joseph, meaning his hands are now free to grab her if necessary, a detail he makes clear to her without ever having to open his mouth.

Ignoring the way her heart fucking _thumps_ in her chest, Cordelia continues, her movements slower this time, until she’s able to lean over the table to properly see their revisions to the map. It takes her a second, maybe longer, to try to read the scribble that can’t actually be words before she realizes that either one of the Seeds has poor penmanship or they’re writing in code. It takes her a little longer, embarrassingly, to notice how many of the outposts that they want back.

“The Resistance will give you five back,” Cordelia says, attention still on the map. “But there’s no way in hell they’ll give you the conservatory back. They don’t even want you to make Bliss anymore.”

“Pardon?” Joseph inquires, which makes sense because she definitely said that more casually than she should have.

Her gaze flicks to him. She hates that she gives him a sheepish smile, even if it is brief. “The Resistance would feel safer if there was no more Bliss. They want to burn all the crops.”

“Absolutely not.”

“This is their non-negotiable,” Cordelia says, pressing her hands against the tabletop a little firmer. “No more Bliss. No more kidnappings. No more Angels. No more Judges.”

Joseph blinks before shaking his head. “That sounds like more than _one_ non-negotiable and I will treat them with the same respect you showed mine.”

“The Bliss is linked to everything else. You don’t need it.”

“You don’t know what we need.”

Cordelia scoffs. “Do the Angels serve an actual purpose, or were they just a sick invention of Faith’s?”

“She would have loved to answer that,” Joseph responds and there is nothing but hate in those eyes of his. “Sadly, you took her from us before you could give her the chance.”

The sound of her heart beat is echoing in her ears and part of her knows she should shut her mouth in case she gives them any indication that the woman formerly known as Faith Seed is actually very much alive. But there’s this other part, this part that likes to poke, that wants to touch the ‘do no touch’ sign, and that part of her is so much stronger.

“Are you _really_ that mad? You and I both know you’ve killed more Faiths than I have,” she exclaims, even though it doesn’t even sound like her own voice to her.

Suddenly, it seems incredibly fortunate that there is a table between them.

Cordelia moves one of her hands to point at the map, her gaze following, in an effort to stop the overwhelming urge to run that’s currently coursing through her because of Joseph’s expression. Her finger jabs a little too hard on the King’s Hot Springs Hotel marker as she manages to say, steadily, “I can get you the hotel back if you want it.” Her finger trails across the map until it stops at the auto shop marker and she’s grateful she’s not shaking as she points at it. “But the Resistance might be... _resistant_ to give you US Auto, especially Merle. They wouldn’t be opposed to you buying your supplies. I’m assuming you have unlimited funds considering that’s how these things go. People join up, hand over every penny they have, and, if you’re not a completely idealistic dumbass, you place all that money in a bank instead of burying it under the ‘ _most beautiful and otherworldly_ ’ oak tree on the compound.”

When Cordelia glances up, a brief wince on her face at the specificness of her example, she expects to be greeted with three sets of eyes waiting for her to elaborate. The only one looking at her is Joseph, all evidence of fury gone, while the other two are more concerned with Joseph; it’s pretty apparent that they expected more of a reaction from their brother.

“Eden's Convent, Sacred Skies Youth Camp, the Whitetail Park Ranger Station, Copperhead Rail Yard, and, of course, Seed Ranch,” Cordelia presses on, ignoring any previous feeling of fear she had. “Those are the outposts the Resistance are willing to hand back. I can probably convince them to give you back the lodge and the fly shop, considering you technically _own_ them. The Kellets’ farm might be a bit of a stretch, but there are also no more Kellets left in the county so it’s just sitting there. But otherwise, you need to pay for your supplies.”

Cordelia meets Joseph’s eyes once more and immediately wishes she hadn’t. It feels like he’s staring right into her, viciously pulling at parts of her she wants to stay hidden, seeing more of her than she has ever let anyone know.

Then, just as the bile is rising in her throat, Joseph leans back in his chair, hands clasped in front of him. “That sounds reasonable.”

“What?” It slips out of her mouth before she can stop it.

“If you give us Faith’s body,” he continues, as if she hasn’t said anything at all.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuckity fuck.

She knew this was a possible point of conversation, but, in this current moment, it feels like she’s just taken a sledgehammer to the side.

But she can’t let them see her actual reaction so she covers it with a grimace. “Do you think I took her body as some sort of sick trophy?”

Joseph seems unconvinced. “We sent a patrol up there to recover it and they came back emptyhanded. She was a member of this family; she deserves to be buried with dignity.”

 _What’s dignified about dropping her into the sulphur pits?_ is what Cordelia wants to say. Instead, she settles for, “So, you _do_ think I took her body as some sort of sick trophy.”

“You were the only two up there.”

“And, what? I carried her body around with me as I took out all the Project members in her bunker?”

“Or you put her somewhere safe then came back for her when it was clear to do so.”

Cordelia’s hands come up to cover her face, but she’s not sure if she wants to laugh or scream more. They move to either side of her head, pressing against her temples, as she tries to wade through the different emotions she’s experiencing. “I will admit I have done some fucked up things since the helicopter crash, things that will haunt me for the rest of my life, but nothing like stringing up bodies or stuffing them with flowers to make examples of them and _definitely_ nothing like what you are suggesting.”

“Then, where is she?” Joseph asks.

_Currently sitting in Sharky Boshaw’s bunker, except now she’s nameless, her hair’s red, her clothes are baggy, and she may or may not be plotting to kill me; I honestly have no idea where I stand with her._

“Inside of an animal?” Cordelia offers. There should be some sympathy behind those words, she realizes, so she offers a supportive smile. “The wildlife in Hope County is brutal and unforgiving.”

“An animal?” Joseph repeats, entirely unconvinced. “You think an _animal_ ate Faith?”

“Or dragged her away somewhere. I’m sorry that I wasn’t more observant but I had an insane level of Bliss in my system and I was pretty sure Whitehorse was about to die. My priorities were bigger than watching over the body of the woman who is partially responsible for all the bullshit that goes on in my head now.” Her snark and anger are definitely not helping. Or maybe it is. Sure, she sounds defensive, but obviously she would be after what Joseph speculated. With a sigh, Cordelia places her hands back on the table and stares directly into his eyes. She keeps her voice steady as she says, “I am sorry that I killed her. I can’t sleep properly anymore because all I see is her face, _all_ of their faces, every single one. I don’t know where Faith’s body is, I wish I could give you closure, but I can’t. All I can give you is a peaceful Hope County and your remaining flock alive and safe, but I can only do that if you keep working with me, Joseph.”

In the back of her mind, she thinks Marigold and Otis would be proud of her for that seamless performance.

Not that that fucking matters.

At all.

She’d told Joseph that she wanted to talk face to face so she could make sure he wasn’t lying and that was partially true. But she also wanted to make sure that he _didn’_ t think she was lying because she knew that would cause problems down the line. From his expression, she honestly can’t tell if he does or not.

Cordelia wants to say more, wants the verbal garbage she’s holding back to spill out, but she keeps herself quiet. She lets him examine her, makes sure to keep her breathing calm, stay still but not too still, hold his gaze but blink normally, press her hands against the table instead of moving them. Unless they change the rules, only John will be there for her confession, but this right here feels like a confession in and of itself; she’s letting Joseph in, something she’s been resistant of this whole time, and, yes, it is entirely bullshit, but she’s sure he can see something in her that she doesn’t want him to so he’s still winning.

Joseph nods, seemingly satisfied, and she can’t help but wonder how much of her he’s taken. He moves closer to the table, his suspicion and ire fading, but the reminder is always there, in his body language and tone. “The Angels will always be monitored; if there are any accidents, the ones responsible will be put down. They are valuable members of our flock, even if they are no longer... _there_.”

He glances over his shoulder to Jacob and she can only see half of whatever look they share; she’s not sure if this talking without talking thing is a sibling thing or a Seed thing, but it’s a little weird. Jacob gives a small nod to his brother and waits until the middle Seed turns away before his gaze also falls back on her.

“The Judges will be restricted to the Veterans' Center and surrounding forest; again, if there are any accidents, the ones responsible will be put down. From today, no more will be trained,” Joseph informs. When she opens her mouth to reply, he holds up a hand. If it were any other circumstance, she’d have a _lot_ to say, but she does what he wants and, _no_ , she doesn’t miss the look John and Jacob share. Joseph, oblivious to them and her actually biting her tongue, rubs his chin before giving a small shake of his head. “Losing Faith and Feeney has made Bliss production difficult. It would take time we don’t have to train someone else. The Resistance can destroy most of the flowers, I give them permission, but if they touch the crops at the convent or the youth camp, there will be consequences.”

Cordelia waits a moment to make sure she’s allowed to speak and again, _no_ , she doesn’t miss the look John and Jacob share. “It would be easier if it was all destroyed, _but_ I can make it work if you agree to the outposts.”

It almost seems like Joseph’s about to stand up and walk out the door, and she feels her heart leap into her throat. But then he just leans further forward so he can get a better look at the map, not that that settles the heavy beating in her chest. “We’ll take the seven you offered, but I don’t have any interest in a dead farm. John?”

“There are no cows left. It’s a worthless piece of property now,” John states almost mechanically. “If we had more time, it could salvageable.”

Joseph takes a moment to consider his brother’s words before he shakes his head. “Your Resistance can have the farm.”

The tension in her shoulders makes itself known when the question pops in her head. “And you’ll pay for your supplies now?”

That charming, fake smile of his comes back. Joseph places his elbows on the top of the table, clasps his hands together, fingers interlocking, and rests his chin on them. “It’s important to support small businesses. They are the backbone of our country.”

And just when that tension lifts, just when she’s moving back to sit in her chair, just when she’s let down her guard, Joseph decides to hit her the sledgehammer once again. Only this time, it nearly literally knocks her flat on her ass because she momentarily loses all feeling in her legs.

“And you’ll move into this bunker.”

Cordelia only barely manages to catch herself on the table edge. If she had actually fallen down from that, she might’ve just tried to kill all three of them now out of embarrassment. The laugh she lets out as she sits down sounds alien. “I think being underground for this long has affected my hearing, because it sounded like you said I was going to be living in a bunker.”

“That’s what I said,” Joseph says, casually. _Casually_.

“Fuck off,” and the accompanying laugh are out of her mouth before she can think about it.

Joseph, to his credit, merely shrugs a shoulder. “Cordelia, it’s a precaution.

He’s serious.

John and Jacob are serious.

No.

Absolutely not.

No way is she living underground.

No fucking way.

She needs to get out of this.

Cordelia smiles at him, leaning closer, and tries her best to imitate him as she repeats his earlier question, “You don’t trust me?”

He leans forward, both an attempt to close the gap between them and unnerve her. He doesn’t succeed so he asks the question to try again. “Where’s her body, Cordelia?”

But it doesn’t work this time. She’s the picture of composed when she says, “I wish I knew, Joseph.”

That’s not the answer he wants and he’s not going to budge. So, she has to push him. She’s good at that.

“I’m not living in a bunker.”

He shakes his head. “When the Collapse comes --”

“I’ll kiss your ass and write a song about you and happily skip into a bunker,” she says. Interrupting him seems to have done the trick for now. But she’s not naïve enough to believe the Faith conversation is over. “But until the world is destroyed, I’m living above ground.”

“Then you’ll come to my compound.” He sounds exasperated. Maybe they do have something in common.

“The place where one of the worst moments of my life occurred? Hard pass.”

With no need to unnerve her at the moment, Joseph moves back to sit properly. “You are running out of options, Cordelia.”

Cordelia falls back to sit in her chair as well. “What if I promise to be good and not do anything wrong ever again?”

“The trust between us is fragile. This truce is tenuous. You need to be watched and I’m sure your friends in the Resistance want to watch us too.”

She knows that he’s right. She hates that he’s right. But the prospect of living in this bunker or on his compound makes her itchy. There’s a spike of pain in the back of her neck that she’s sure has nothing to do with her head wound. What are her other options, though?

The convent is creepy. She would never be able to even try to sleep, especially with all those giant portraits of Joseph everywhere.

Any outpost will be filled with Peggies who would all love to kill her in her sleep, so again, she would never be able to even try to sleep.

Or there’s...

 _Shit_.

Her gaze flicks up to Jacob and instantly, there are alarm bells and sirens going off, and big neon signs that say ‘NO FUCKING WAY’ because everything that’s happened at the Veterans' Center has fucked her up in ways the other Seed siblings could only dream of doing. Cordelia’s not even sure if she could step one foot into that place without having a panic attack. Also, her roommates would be Jacob Seed and the Chosen, so there are really no upsides to that location.

Then again, there aren’t any upsides to any of this, but Joseph is right; she wants to watch them as much as they want to watch her.

Which leaves...

_Fuck._

She’s never gonna hear the end of this from Sharky and Adelaide.

Cordelia shakes her head, disagreeing with her own decision to live in the same house as a man who said he’d hang her skin off those very walls as a trophy. The alternatives are worse, that’s what she has to remind herself, because otherwise, there’s a very good chance she might scream.

“I’ve lived at the Seed Ranch before,” she finally says. “Let’s do it again.”

At least the sudden expression on John’s face makes her feel better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This negotiation definitely isn't over yet.
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed this chapter.


	4. ... or succumb to it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cordelia may not be a Peggie (... yet), but she knows enough about John, and Joseph, and John and Joseph’s brotherly, herald-y relationship to make assumptions. Her moving in gives him a chance, it gives him hope, and that means she can manipulate him if she needs to, if she _has_ to. But she thinks that’s only fair because there’s no way John _won’t_ be manipulating her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took some turns that I wasn't expecting, like that weren't anywhere on my outline for the chapter, but I guess that just happens sometimes. Hopefully, it makes for good reading.
> 
> Also, probably not important, but I keep choosing chapter titles and then changing them so if you see me doing that, please just ignore me. Apparently, I'm just never satisfied with my decisions.
> 
> Warnings: there is a mention of how Burke died and the way Cordelia brings it up (or, really, shows them) is not pleasant at all, there are mentions of canon-typical violence, and swearing as usual. Also, Cordelia's not the best person and that can't all be blamed on other people.

“The ranch?” John repeats; it’s slow, like the words are alien to him, like the very concept is entirely incomprehensible. He stares at her, ignoring his brothers’ gazes in his direction before he blinks. Clearly though, that doesn’t make his confusion go away, which is something Cordelia is enjoying immensely. “ _My_ ranch?”

She considers sarcasm, the words desperately sitting on the tip of her tongue, but she knows the reaction she’ll get and this is too much fun to ruin. Instead, Cordelia nods her head and says, “That’s what I said.”

John’s brow furrows momentarily. She can see them; the cogs in his head are turning, as are the ones in Joseph’s and Jacob’s. They’re probably trying to figure out why she would choose the ranch, why she would choose John, _why_ ; and isn’t that _exactly_ the question she expects to follow her around for the rest of her life?

When it finally clicks for John, she notices. His posture changes. His confusion is gone. He’s proud, excited, curious, and, most of all, desperate, because he needs to prove himself, right? That’s the big thing. That’s the cloud hanging over his head.

Jacob proves himself daily. Jacob is a good and loyal soldier who makes good and loyal soldiers.

Faith proved herself; Faith made the Bliss, which made the Angels, who helped pick the flowers to make the Bliss, which made the Angels, and that was a beautiful cycle until Cordelia broke it.

But John?

_Oh, John._

Cordelia may not be a Peggie (... yet), but she knows enough about John, and Joseph, and John and Joseph’s brotherly, herald-y relationship to make assumptions. Her moving in gives him a chance, it gives him hope, and that means she can manipulate him if she needs to, if she _has_ to. But she thinks that’s only fair because there’s no way John _won’t_ be manipulating her.

“I’m surprised,” Joseph says, and, _yes_ , that much is obvious; he’s not even trying to hide it. “But if this is what you want, Cordelia.”

“No. _No_. What I want is to be 1000 miles away from this fucking place,” she replies, adjusting in her seat. There’s a muscle in her lower back making itself known, and she’s not sure if it’s from the chair or the company. When she settles, her gaze is hard and directed solely at Joseph. “What I want is to be with my family. What I want is to not be a killer. What I want --”

“We understand.”

“-- is for you to get what you deserve,” Cordelia continues, completely ignoring Joseph’s interjection. She takes a moment to inhale, to soften, before shaking her head. “ _But_ getting that means that I would get what I deserve and I _don’t_ want that.”

Joseph’s about to reply.

She won’t let him.

This is her time.

“See, Joey and Pratt, they were taken prisoner for _months_ , they were physically and psychologically tortured, so they’d be fine. I mean, relatively speaking, because that trauma is going to stay with them for the rest of their lives; good job, Seeds.” Cordelia gives them a thumbs up and pretends she doesn’t hear the manic undertone in her voice. “And Whitehorse? Well, he might have _some_ trouble, but he also hasn’t really left the jail much so the blood he’s spilled has meaning; he’s _defendin’_ all of them in that jail, he’s just _doin_ ’ his job and the good folks of Hope County ‘ill stick by ‘im. And then there’s the Marshal, but Burke doesn’t matter; he was a puppet most of time then, y’know, _bang_.” Cordelia brings her hand up to her face, her index and middle finger pressing against her temple, before she remembers and drags them down to under her chin instead.

As her fingers go off, Cordelia lets out a hollow laugh, a cruel sound that should bring her to tears but doesn’t and she has no idea if that’s because of her present company or that she’s just reached that point of no return.

“I passed the self-defence justification about two hundred bodies ago,” Cordelia says flippantly, even though she knows, she _knows_ , that there’s no humor in this. “It was around the time I started using incendiary ammo because it was more effective. Around the time I took out an entire outpost with just a shovel because I made a bet that I could without raising any alarms. Around the time I started killing Whitetails, because I _know_ I killed some. I know because I woke up in a pile of bodies, covered in blood that wasn’t mine, and saw faces of people I remembered from the Den and the cages.”

Her eyes flick to Jacob. There’s no reaction from him, no raise of an eyebrow or smirk or even verbal confirmation, and that in itself is all the confirmation she needs. A smile curves her lips, a sick kind of satisfaction filling her.

“I want a lot of things, Joseph. Living with one of you is not _anywhere_ on the list,” Cordelia says. The silence she’s being met with helps maintain the satisfaction she’s feeling, because how many people have managed this before? All three Seeds brothers are giving her their full attention and that feels good; it almost makes the bump on her head and the knot in her back and the exhaustion and the nightmares worth it. Almost. “I _have_ to do this because you’re right, and, believe me, that’s actually physically painful for me say. We need to watch each other. I need to know that you’re not doing shit behind my back; that there are no more patrols, or kidnappings, or ‘legal’ seizures of property. I’m just choosing to do that at a place that I only have good memories of.”

With a now self-satisfied smile on her face, Cordelia leans back in her chair, interlocking her fingers across her abdomen. Watching the Seeds still silent, still considering her words, does seem to make the knot in her back loosen. Actually, it feels like all of her is looser, freer, lighter, and that’s not something she’s felt much in Hope County; alcohol and weed can only do so much.

“How’d I do?” Cordelia asks, not caring how ridiculous her grin is. The slight furrow of Joseph’s brow makes her grin widen. “I’ve had to sit through a lot of speeches from all of you about sins, and weaknesses, and tests from God that include such classic hits as killing your own daughter and eating a dude. _So,_ I figured it was my turn. What’d you think? I should’ve gotten more in your face, right? It’s the ignoring personal space that really nails it.”

Joseph raises a hand to his temple, fingers rubbing it like he has the beginnings of a headache and, boy, does she hope he does. Jacob’s annoyance would have been less noticeable if she wasn’t practically in a state of hypervigilance every time she was around them; the momentary closing of his eyes and the deep inhale make her bite down on her tongue to stop her laugh. It seems like John is the only one actually enjoying it, his confusion now replaced a small, almost imperceptible smirk. That makes sense though, she didn’t include him in her classic hits list when she definitely could’ve.

“Would you like to be praised, Cordelia?” Joseph asks, resignedly.

That seems like a question that could lead them down a path she really doesn’t want to go down with any of them. Instead, she sighs, a disheartened sound that’s entirely fake, and moves forward again, leaning her elbows on the table, as she petulantly says, “ _No_. We have more important things we still need to discuss.”

Her response manages to make his exasperation disappear. Joseph’s hand stops rubbing his temple before he asks, “Such as?”

“My conditions for living at the ranch, for one,” Cordelia replies, and _that’s_ when John starts to visibly express the same frustration his brothers are feeling. But really, did he think it was going to that easy for her to move into his ranch?

“And what would those be?”

“I have three animals who I’ve basically adopted. They’ll be moving in as well.”

“Absolutely not,” John interjects before Joseph has a chance to look back at him.

Her eyes narrow as she focuses on him instead of Joseph. “Absolutely _yes_.”

It takes him a second to realize that she chose the word specifically, which makes his own gaze narrow. “The only animals allowed in my home are stuffed ones.”

“Cheeseburger _does_ have stuffed toys that look just like him. Does that count?”

“Your animals are not welcome in my home,” John states with finality that he has no business using.

Cordelia nods her head, her gaze drifting to the wall next to her, and, really, after all of this, he should know that’s not her agreeing. But she assumes John’s not thinking clearly, which is understandable. Today has been a lot.

“Okay,” she says. Her eyes return to him, her expression completely blank. “Then it’ll be Sharky Boshaw and Hurk Drubman Jr. moving in.”

Her smile returns when his own expression drops, becoming something between worry, annoyance, and murder.

“Because I know my friends, and Sharky’s going to insist on proof of life every single day, which means he’ll probably be at the ranch _every single day_ ,” Cordelia continues, enjoying the way the muscles in John’s face seem to twitch at the thought of dealing with Sharky 24/7. “And Hurk doesn’t really have a lot going on because he’s stuck in Hope County, so he’ll be hanging out with Sharky. And inevitably, they will come up with the idea of moving in. They’ll say something like ‘ _hey, there’s three bedrooms and a shit ton of couches’_. _Or_ Hurk’ll say something like ‘ _I carved my initials right here_ ’ and then Sharky’ll say ‘ _yeah, and I peed all over that wall outside so we kinda own this place too’_. _Or_ they’ll just bring it up every single day because they’ll be sure they can wear you down.”

John’s jaw clenches. The vein in his forehead looks like it’s about to pop as he says, “Charlemagne Boshaw _peed_ on my home?”

She has absolutely no control over the muscles that widen her grin. Not that she would try to hide it, not when it’s only annoying John further. Cordelia can’t even manage to properly answer him when there’s a _genuine_ , albeit manic, laugh desperately trying to make itself known. All that comes out is a sound of confirmation followed by the smallest slivers of laughter before she has to cover her face with her hands.

And she realizes, in the back of her head, that this is not as funny as she thinks it is.

But this whole situation is so fucked.

Where she is in her life is so fucked.

 _She_ is so fucked.

Maybe the her from four months ago, the one who was a _little_ nicer on the surface and a _lot_ better at bottling it all up, wouldn’t be struggling to not laugh at the murderous look in John Seed’s eyes. But the her from four months ago is dead and there is no chance of resuscitation anymore and she’s accepted that.

She’s _mostly_ accepted that.

Besides, she’s still basically the same person.

Minus all the killing.

And the nightmares.

And the drinking that’s definitely teetered away from the recreational/dependence line she used to toe so skilfully.

And the...

Okay, maybe she’s a fraction of the person she used to be but that’s still _basically_ the same person.

When Cordelia finally pulls her hands off her face, bringing them up to card through her hair instead, all traces of her laughter are gone. Her gaze returns to John only to see him now completely calm, like he hadn’t just been devising the best possible way to exact revenge on Sharky, which makes her realize that she definitely missed something.

In fact, there’s a general calmness in the room, one that’s a little too unsettling and suffocating to be soothing. Joseph’s the cause, she knows that even before her eyes drift over to him. There’s no more exasperation, no more anger; there’s just the calculating calm that she wants to rip to shreds.

Cordelia raises her hands, using them like scales as she asks, “Animals, or the Boshaw-Drubmans?”

“Is there a difference?” At Joseph didn’t manage to stomp out all of John’s bite.

Her mouth drops in faux indignation. “And they speak so highly of you.”

John’s definitely fighting not to let any more emotion show. _Poke. Poke. Poke._ He exhales slowly. “Your animals are welcome at the ranch, but not inside my home.”

“That won’t work.”

“I’m being flexible.”

“Not enough.”

“Cordelia,” Joseph interjects, and she’s not sure what’s worse: the gentle tone he uses or the way he reaches for her hand.

It’s not even subtle when she pulls her hand out of his reach. This time, there’s no hiding that she just doesn’t want him to touch her and he notices.

With a shake of her head, Cordelia brings her legs up to cross under her. It’s not exactly easy on the chair they’ve given her, but it does give her a chance to take a breath.

“We all know if one of you was moving in with _me_ at a Resistance base, you would be the biggest assholes about every little thing,” Cordelia says snidely. With a shake of her head, Cordelia finds John again. “Boomer and Peaches are allowed inside; that’s where they’ll sleep if they want. Cheeseburger will sleep in the hangar.”

“That’s where Absolution is,” John replies, his brow furrowing.

“That’s a _plane_.”

“That’s _my_ plane.”

Cordelia’s own brows furrow. “It’s still a plane.”

“It’s very important to me.”

“Because my bear isn’t important to me?”

“Technically, it’s not _your_ bear,” John replies with a roll of his eyes.

Her scoff is much louder than she anticipated. “Do you, of all people, really want to start talking about technicalities?” 

Apparently, that’s the straw that breaks Jacob’s stoicism. His hand comes up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he shakes his head. “Just fucking let her keep the bear in the hangar, John, or we’ll be here all day.”

With a sharp inhale, John takes a moment. It must be hard to do this, which is what makes it sweeter for her when he forces himself to say, “ _Fine_. But it’s not allowed in the house.”

“Of course not,” Cordelia replies with a short laugh. “He has trouble with stairs. I don’t want to make him self-conscious.”

That gains the attention of all three Seeds, who instantly try to figure out if she’s joking. Not that she gives them any indication.

Joseph is the first one to blink. He takes a breath then gives her a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Is that all, Cordelia?”

Crossing her arms on the tabletop, Cordelia gives a little shake of her head before saying, “I know that I’m joining the Project so I’ll have to do _something_ and look like a team player; I don’t want _sloth_ carved on me. I also know that I’m now living with one of you. I just want to be clear that I’m not becoming someone’s – and by someone, I mean you, John – maid, or chef, or chauffeur, or gardener, or... I don’t know, any serving role that you might want to put me in. And, before you ask, no, it doesn’t matter how cute the uniform is.”

There’s a slight pause where Joseph bites the inside of his cheek and Cordelia desperately wishes she knew what he was thinking. Jacob’s no help with that insight either. It must be starting to get to him; normally by this moment in their conversations, he has her running trials and the words out of her mouth are primal and probably incoherent. Even John’s no help. His brief reaction to her specification, the amused smile on his face, is still there but he’s more interested in trying to gain insight into her; that makes sense though, he can only see the back of his brother’s head whereas her face, her hands, all the tics she’s trying to hide, are on full display.

“I would hope that would go without saying,” Joseph finally says, lightly. There’s just a hint of concern mixed in that she knows is there on purpose; he wants her to think she cares, wants her to think she can trust him, wants her to think he can be her friend at some point. Maybe there is a part of him that is genuine. After all, he’s kept her alive all this time even when he could’ve easily snapped her neck or put a bullet in her head. Still, she’s wary. She’s read the notes, seen the destruction, heard the stories from the Resistance and from his own family. It’s going to take a lot before she stops feeling equal parts terror and disgust when she looks at him. At any of them really.

“Me too,” is her only reply. Her attempt at being light is better than his.

Joseph nods his head, glancing over her once and making her think that the attempt wasn’t, before leaning forward to rest his clasped hands on table. “You _will_ be a member of the Project. Not the Resistance.”

“So long as I don’t have to wear the uniform.”

“It’s not a uniform.”

“Are you saying they’re wearing _that_ voluntarily?” Cordelia asks, incredulously.

“It shows their commitment to the Project,” Joseph replies with all the charm of a cult leader who’s explained it a hundred times before. “To shedding themselves of their material possessions.”

Her eyes flick up to John as she leans across the table. One hand comes up to cup the side of her mouth, even though she knows her voice will be a stage whisper at best. “I don’t think John’s following that one.” Before she drops her hand, Cordelia brings her index finger to her lips, enjoying the fact she can see John roll his eyes out of the corner of her own.

Joseph smiles. He’s amused _with_ her, _by_ her; she’s not sure she likes that. “We don’t claim to be perfect people, Cordelia. We have our sins etched on our skin as well. Just as you will.”

There’s a pause, a moment where Joseph just looks at her, almost like he’s waiting.

Then that moment stretches.

It stretches until it reaches an uncomfortable point and she realizes that he is waiting. He assumed there would be a reaction, that there would be an argument, that he would have to give something else so that she would wear her sin.

Cordelia shakes her head and waves off the idea with her hand. “Yeah, I don’t care about that. I can do the whole ‘wearing it and carrying its burden’ thing; that’s fine. But it stays on my skin. _You_ ,” Cordelia emphasizes the word, but doesn’t direct at the person she’s emphasizing it for, all four of them know though, “don’t get my skin as a trophy or whatever it is that you do with it when people have atoned. You can carve it into me or you can tattoo it, I don’t give a shit, but it stays on me.”

“That’s reasonable,” Joseph says with a nod of his head. “You will also need to come to the Sunday sermons.”

 _Now_ he can have his reaction.

“Fuck no,” she scoffs.

“ _Cordelia_ ,” he says. No, _chastises_. He chastises her _again_.

Rather than letting her frustration out immediately, Cordelia sits back against her chair and begins rubbing one of her wrists. At least, that’s what she makes it look like. The rope burns aren’t the worst she’s dealt with so far and pressing against them doesn’t give her the same relief that digging her nails into her palm would, but it’s what she’s got.

“Cordelia,” Joseph says again. There’s still the scolding tone that makes her rub her wrist just that little bit harder. “Your presence at the compound will help people accept this truce.”

“I almost died there,” Cordelia spits back. So much for using the pain as an outlet. Then again, she could’ve actually yelled at him. Maybe it did work.

“From what I understand, you’ve almost died everywhere in Hope County. Is there anywhere you _can_ go?” It’s not said with malice, but with humor even though his face remains blank; it’s his eyes that give him away.

“Funny,” is all she can manage. Her nails are starting to join in the rubbing, which actually helps. There’s definitely a chance she’ll break the skin now; this is just an easier way to channel her energy, her frustration, there as her gaze stays on Joseph.

“You’re an important member of the Resistance and you will be an important member of the Project,” Joseph continues, ignoring her response. “If you are not there, it will mean something.”

“And if I am there, I...” Cordelia trails off because she has no idea what will happen.

There are definitely ideas of what will happen, just like the first time she walked over the bridge she and Burke had driven off of. It took her weeks to actually do it – the only reason she liberated Lorna’s was because she needed to get into the Valley _without_ going over that bridge and the Peggies would’ve spotted her – and even then, she couldn’t even drive over it. She had walked across, leaving Sharky and Hurk in the truck, under the guise of taking out the roadblock stealthily. Every step had made her nauseous. Every step reminded her of the screaming, the fear coursing through her, the fall, the submersion, the watching Burke swim away from her as she struggled with her jammed seatbelt and him never looking back once.

And _there’s_ the skin breaking.

She winces as she looks down at her wrist. It’s not because of the blood, it’s because she’d done it in front of them. Joseph’s own gaze follows and almost immediately he’s turning around to start telling one of them to get her a bandage.

“Don’t,” Cordelia says, raising her other hand, ignoring the small bit of blood on her nail. “It’s nothing.”

“You’re bleeding,” Joseph insists.

“I’m always bleeding.” Her attempt at a joke falls flat.

It gives her a moment to think about it.

There’s every chance that she’ll be able to walk onto the compound and be perfectly fine. She won’t think of the last time she was there. She’ll be kind and sweet and everything she was taught to be when she went to church. It’ll be a good stepping stone for her healing process. Everything will be fine.

_Or_...

Or, Joseph and John and Jacob will have to deal with the consequences of asking her to do this.

 _Fuck it_.

“Give me two weeks,” Cordelia finally says, pressing her wrist against her flannel. “Let me heal from whatever sins John gives me then I can show them off.”

Joseph inhales deeply. She assumes he’ll say no, argue with her, until he agrees, “Two weeks, that’s all.”

“And I’m going to spend that time taking down all the bodies around the county.” She keeps her tone steady, unwavering, even as her gaze flicks between the three Seeds, even as she is reminded of Alex hanging up there above the tunnel out of the county, the man who sent the video that finally got the Department irrefutable proof. “They’re not decorations, or examples, or target practice, or a psychopath’s little arts and crafts project. They’re people and I’m going to bury them like people so they can be mourned.”

Maybe her tone, or her sad pleading expression that she hates herself for not hiding, or if Joseph has just decided he and his brothers need to repent for that too. Whatever it is, she sees it on his face, the acceptance and understanding, and knows his answer before he even opens his mouth.

“Of course,” he agrees with a nod of his head. “You’ll need help to do that.”

“I’m guessing you’re not going to be rolling up your sleeves.”

“I would, Cordelia, but I have other duties that require my attention.”

It’s an effort to _not_ roll her eyes. “The people you have on me can help,” she says. She doesn’t make the effort to stop herself this time, rolling her eyes at Joseph’s confusion. “We don’t trust each other. We don’t need to pretend we do. I’m going to have people watching you three, you’ll have people watching me too. I would say four is the number. One or two I could take down without breaking a sweat; that’s not my pride talking, by the way, that’s just a fact _now_. Three would be harder but if I got a weapon off the first, then the other two wouldn’t have a chance. But _four_... Even if I managed to take out the first three, the fourth would’ve been able to radio someone by then so I’d be caught.”

Joseph has a look of amusement and surprise. It still doesn’t sit well with her, his amusement at her actions and words. It’s too familiar, an expression she expects from her friends in the Resistance when she comes up with something ridiculous at the bar that makes one of them throw a pretzel in her direction. Cordelia tries not to squirm away from his stare.

“That’s reasonable,” he says before leaning back against the chair. His hands come together in front of his abdomen, fingers interlocking. “If there’s nothing else we need to discuss, Cordelia...”

“Should we have written all of this down?” Cordelia asks, brow furrowing.

“Do you need to have everything written down?”

“It would be good to have proof.”

Joseph considers it for a moment before turning to John. “Would you draw something up, John.”

Despite being phrased like a question, there’s a definitive lack of a question mark as Joseph says it. John, doing his part as faithful brother perfectly, nods his head and replies, “Of course, Joseph”, before he leaves them once again.

And even though it’s poking at her, the fact that she has every opportunity to keep poking _them_ , Cordelia just sits there. This time, she doesn’t look at the doorway, doesn’t think about a way out or how fucked she would be if she even tried. Instead, she inspects her wrist, which looks and feels much worse than the other. It’s been rubbed raw, the rope burn looking angrier than they originally did. The cut she made with her nail is dry, some of the blood smeared across it while the rest, she expects, is soaked into the fabric of her flannel.

Like before, Joseph and Jacob stay quiet. They’re still watching her, reading her, probing her, without ever opening their mouths and asking the questions their silent interrogations are already answering. Even without raising her head, she can feel them. Hopefully when she’s _an important member of the Project_ they’ll stop doing this shit. Or, at the very least, before she actually gets used to it.

What feels like hours pass under their scrutiny before John waltzes back in, stack of paper under one arm, a chair in the other, and a pen sitting in his breast pocket. Cordelia immediately pushes away the memory of him whistling and carrying his little toolbox into the room while Joey desperately tried to free herself, screams muffled against the duct tape. But that’s why she’s doing this, because of that, because of Pratt screaming for his freedom, because of Whitehorse holding that rope, because of Burke killing Virgil and then himself. So, maybe she shouldn’t. Maybe she should just hold onto that memory and tell herself that it’s in the past, that now the lighting is better, and the only tools John has at his disposal are his mind, his wit, and a pen, which she could definitely steal and jam into his carotid if necessary. Of course, Jacob would then kill her without hesitation but another Seed down is still another Seed down.

No.

No, the whole point of this is to _not_ do that.

She’s ruined friendships, possibly her reputation, for this. Sure, she would go out a Hope County legend, but then the fighting would continue and more people would die and everything would be shitty and for nothing and then... fuck.

Still, it’s always good to have a strategy.

(Pen for John; straight to the jugular, then three times more for good measure so he’s knows she’s embracing the power of ‘ _yes_!’.

Chair for Jacob; use as a distraction, use to make him weak, then use to turn him into ground meat.

Bare hands for Joseph; make him look her right in the eye as she chokes the life out of him, as she stops him from preaching ever again.)

Not that she needs one.

Especially not when John’s busy writing out their truce, his chair placed on the side so that he’s equally distanced between her and Joseph.

It’s interesting to see him like this. Admittedly, she’s only seen him when her life’s been in danger – she’s in a room with the three Seed brothers, in one of their underground bunkers, it’s not like this is _safest_ place in the county – but she’s still surprised. He’s fervent and focused, writing out the contract, making sure to ask them questions again to make sure he’s including the right things. The only time he seems to falter is when she scooches her chair closer to the corner so she can get a better look. She wants to know, before he’s finished writing, that he’s actually doing the right thing, that there aren’t additional clauses between the lines, so they _don’t_ have to be here for any longer than they have to. All that gets her is a frustrated glare from John and, for what feels like the twentieth time, a not-so-subtle but silent reminder from Jacob that he could indeed kill her if she made the wrong decision.

“I’ve read some of the contracts people got from you. I don’t want to get fucked by loopholes,” Cordelia explains, making absolutely no effort to move herself back to where she was sitting. Her hands press against the tabletop as she pushes herself up slightly to read the paper, and, before she can stop herself, she says, “You have nice handwriting.”

All that gets her is more of his frustrated glare.

Which then turns into a staring... _glaring_ match between her and John that neither of them are willing to lose.

“Do you want something to drink, Cordelia?” Joseph asks. It’s nice to know she’s annoying more than one Seed; Hell, it’s probably all of them but she’s not going to look over at Jacob _just_ yet.

“No, I already had spit for breakfast,” she answers, her eyes still on John’s.

The sigh that he doesn’t release is very evident in his tone as he inquires, “ _John_ , would you?”

It wounds a part of him, she can tell, when John has to turn his head in his brother’s direction, like a good Herald, and give his answer directly. “No, thank you, Joseph.”

The comment she has about his manners stays on her tongue, much like the smirk stays buried between her cheek and her teeth. Her only solace is that she’ll now be living with him and have every chance to annoy him.

* * *

“Un- _fuckin’_ -believable,” is the first word out of Mary May’s mouth when she sees her.

It was always going to be a shitshow.

Cordelia knew that the moment she was signing her name on the truce, when Joseph was reminding her that she would have to move into the ranch today, when she was radioing Jerome to make sure that the Resistance had in fact packed up the ranch and not left behind any surprises.

She knew as she walked out of the bunker and was blinded by the sunlight, as Joseph was holding her shoulders and praising her for this, as John was ushering her into the back of the Pegg... _Project_ truck and climbing in next to her.

She knew as the truck was driving down the same road she’d once fought for her life on, as she was tuning out whatever John was saying in favor of looking out at the farmland, as she was trying to fight the heavy thumping of her heart and the nausea swirling in her stomach because she’d done it and everyone was safe but it was also new and so fucking precarious.

But still, it takes her by surprise when she hears the words before her foot has even hit the pavement.

Because she had stopped looking as soon as they turned down the main road into Fall’s End so she hadn’t seen Mary May standing there on the corner like she usually was.

Cordelia had wanted more time.

Cordelia had _needed_ more time.

Just those few more seconds between her getting out of the truck and putting her hand on the door handle because those few seconds would...

Have done absolutely fucking nothing.

She had nothing.

She just wanted those few more seconds.

Instead, she gets Mary May storming over to her, ready to unleash the entirely well-deserved tirade she’s had stewing for the last day.

“You’ve got some balls to be showin’ up outside my bar with John _fuckin’_ Seed before you even talk to me!” Mary May shouts as she closes the gap between them. “Fuckin’ hell, Cordelia. I had to hear it from Pastor Jerome because you were too chicken shit to tell me!”

“Yeah, I was,” Cordelia replies, like it’s obvious, still trying to retain some glibness even when it feels like she’s about to vomit.

Wrong move.

Mary May’s face tells her that was the wrong fucking move.

Definitely feels like she’s about to vomit but the only thing stopping it is the immovable lump in her throat.

“I let you into my home. I told you stories about my family, about my dad. I let you drive his truck and then you turn around and get into bed with the man who killed him?!” Mary May’s shouting is drawing people out of the nearby buildings, at least two turning and quickly making their way to the church, and, _yeah_ , Cordelia’s not about to about to shush her or try to deescalate things because she deserves this. Knowing that, however, doesn’t stop the spikes running up her spine and settling at the base of her skull, and reminding her of the wound from being knocked out.

In fact, Cordelia’s ready to stand there and listen to everything her friend has to say because the woman didn’t get the chance yesterday at the bar. Or, she _is_ until she hears a truck door shut and footsteps round the back of it and _feels_ John’s presence beside her before he even gets there.

_If someone on either side breaks the peace, we will figure out an appropriate punishment for them._

Is punching John really worth it?

“Mary May, you _are_ a sight for sore eyes,” John greets, a smug smile gracing his lips. “Tell me, how’s the tattoo?”

Yes.

Yes, it is worth it.

Yet her arm hangs limply at her side as she instead turns her whole body in his direction, practically seething as she says, “I don’t need your help.”

“I didn’t offer it,” John responds with bite before he becomes the picture of arrogant charm once more as he looks at Mary May. “Tell me, is this one a good roommate? I know she can be an absolute terror, running around and destroying my hard work, but does she do her fair share of the cleaning?”

“What?” Mary May asks, her disgust and confusion leaving her face scrunched.

“Oh, that’s right,” John says, bringing his hand up to his forehead to admonish himself. He tilts his head in Cordelia’s direction. “You haven’t had the chance to tell them yet.”

_Yes, Joseph, I did knock John out but, in my defence, he was a total asshole so it was warranted._

_Yes, Joseph, I know that I spent a good portion of the negotiation pulling shit just like that, but, in my defence, I enjoyed doing it._

_Yes, Joseph, I understand that John would’ve been enjoying doing it, but, in my defence, John isn’t me so... yeah._

“Cordelia’s moving in with me,” John continues when it’s obvious that Cordelia’s more focused on something else, not punching him, to elaborate.

Her desire to knock him out increases by about 200% when Mary May looks at her like... like she looks at John.

“When I said gettin’ into bed with him,” Mary May says in a tone usually reserved for the Seeds and the Peggies. “I didn’t mean it literally.”

Well, that’s the last fucking rumor Cordelia needs spreading around Hope County. Not that she wasn’t expecting it. She had just hoped that it wouldn’t happen for a while. But it’s not like there aren’t rumors and jokes about the Seeds and her already. Now there’s just more potential for it to be true, even when there’s no fucking potential at all, but people won’t see it that way. No, they’ll just see it as her living with one of them and going to church with all of them and being around all of them despite what they did. Even though it’s not like the Resistance are that squeaky clean either; they’re just on the right side of this.

“I’m watching them,” Cordelia explains. The scoff Mary May lets out does make her embarrassment settle, though, as anger bubbles instead. “You want to switch jobs? _I’ll_ stand behind a bar and do nothing all day and _you_ can go out and destroy yourself for people who are apparently too incompetent to do things for themselves. Remind me, why couldn’t you get your daddy’s truck back? Because it was important enough to ask someone else to get it, but not enough to get off your ass and do it yourself.”

If looks could kill, Cordelia would be flat on the sidewalk, but so would Mary May.

John, on the other hand, appears to be absolutely revelling in this.

“And here I was expecting your little sobbin’ routine,” Mary May sneers. At the appearance of Cordelia’s furrowed brow, Mary May nods her head, a cruel smile taking the place of her scowl. “ _Yeah_ , I heard _all_ about it yesterday. You sat there and you cried about how hard it is to be the hero, to be the one we rely on when we need help, to fight and win like _we’ve_ all been doin’ the whole fuckin’ time. Boohoo, Cordelia, we’re all dealin’ with this shit. You don’t get to take the easy way out.”

This is her friend; that’s what Cordelia has to remind herself.

This is her friend, who is justifiably hurt and angry and disappointed because of Cordelia’s decision and the fact that Cordelia didn’t tell her herself.

This is her friend, who has suffered losses because of the Peggies, because of Joseph, because of John.

This is her friend, who sat with her and listened to her stories and shared her own and helped her pretend, even for a few brief moments, that everything was normal.

But that reminder gets buried by the anger of the whole fucking situation, of the whole four months, and, as much as it tries to break through, it doesn’t.

“If you’ve been fightin’ and winnin’ this whole time,” Cordelia begins slowly, her accent mimicking the blonde’s slightly, “why are your brother and your daddy dead?”

_Yes, Joseph, I did knock Cordelia out but, in my defence, she was a total asshole so it was warranted._

And she should let Mary May do it. She _knows_ that she should. But Cordelia still manages to dodge out of the way as the punch is thrown. She uses the movement to sidestep around Mary May and start making her way to the bar. The only reason a second punch isn’t thrown is because, from the sounds of it, Casey holds Mary May back despite her loud and expletive-riddled objections.

“I’ll be waiting in the truck for you!” John shouts to Cordelia, sounding entirely too gleeful.

The second the door shuts and she’s all alone in the Spread Eagle, Cordelia fights the urge to lurch forward and put her head between her knees. The most she gives herself is a few seconds to breathe, to let the ragged breaths in and let slightly calmer ones out. She has no time. Mary May’s only letting her into the bar because she doesn’t have the means to stop her, but Cordelia doesn’t think Casey’s going to hold the blonde back for that much longer.

The fact that Cordelia even manages to get up the stairs and grab the few items scattered around the room, hurriedly pushing them into her half-packed bag, seems like a miracle. It’s as she’s doing her last scan of her... Mary May’s spare room that she hears the door slam open, heavy footsteps making their way inside. But then they stop.

 _Shit_.

 _Why_ do they stop?

Cordelia’s running before she can stop herself. There’s this tiny worry scratching at the back of her mind that it’s a capital P reason why the footsteps stopped and that makes her move even faster.

Until she sees Jerome standing there beside Mary May, a comforting hand on her arm. They both look up from the conversation to see Cordelia standing on the stairs.

She’s not sure which is worse: the contempt in Mary May’s eyes or the disappointment in Jerome’s.

With every step she takes, Cordelia feels like the room gets a little bit smaller until she finally reaches the door closest to the stairs. Freedom and fresh air are so close but she still turns her head back.

“I’ll come by and see you later, Cordelia,” Jerome says before her mouth even opens.

Okay, she definitely knows which is worse.

All she can do is nod, the words dying in her mouth. What could she really say, though?

_Sorry I didn’t radio ahead to let you know that I’m rooming with John “embrace the Power of YES” Seed._

_Sorry I brought up your dead brother and dad who my aforementioned new roommate is responsible for killing._

_Sorry I chose to stop of the fighting instead of continuing to kill Peggies and parts of myself for you all._

_Sorry I don’t think I’m actually sorry for choosing this._

The walk back to the truck is excruciating. The eyes on her feel like they’re pricking her with more unanswered questions, more of the _why_ questions that she’s been prepared for.

Yesterday, the people of Fall’s End were happy when they saw her.

Yesterday, they smiled at her, and asked her how she was, and talked about mundane things while she waited for Sharky to come get her.

Yesterday, they didn’t know that she was talking about a truce with the Seeds, and planning to break the news to her closest friends in the Resistance, and not fighting anymore.

John’s still utterly delighted by the scene she caused but he hides it well enough beneath his smug expression. It’s the energy radiating from him that gives him away. At least before he opens his mouth. “And here I thought you reserved all your hostility for us.”

“ _John_ ,” she says, warningly because she is still ready for a fight.

“It was fun being on this side of it,” he replies before holding his hands out.

It takes her a second to understand what he’s doing. A second in which his impatience seems to get the better of him and he huffs and takes the bag from her so he can check it as the Peggie driving begins to leaving Fall’s End behind.

Cordelia barely even manages to pay attention to what he’s doing, to the fact that he’s searching through her bag to check that there aren’t weapons and definitely not accidentally touching clothes that he shouldn’t. It actually takes her a whole ten seconds to realize that John Seed’s inspection has led to him holding some clothes in his hand and one piece specifically is a pair of her underwear. All because her brain is so focused on what he said; that he was on her side, that they were on the same side. And she knew that, knew that people would say that because she _is_ or _will be_ in the Project so they will be on the same side, even though it really goes: her side, her family’s side, her friends’ side, the Resistance’s side, the law’s side, then the Project’s side.

It's then, when she’s reminding herself that it’s her side above all else, that she finally notices John Seed has at least two of her fingers touching her underwear and she snatches the bundle of clothes from him.

“What are you doing?” she questions, angrily even though she knows what he’s doing.

“Alcohol is not allowed in the Project,” John answers, fingers wrapped around the neck of the half empty whiskey bottle she didn’t even try to hide.

Cordelia holds her clothes close to her in her lap like she’s trying to protect them from John’s hands. “I was hoping you made that up so Hurk wouldn’t join.”

“No such luck.”

“Which means the fornication rule is...”

“Also real and enforced,” John answers. He definitely enjoys the way she tries not to react, tries not to roll her eyes, because that’s a reaction all on its own.

Settling back in her seat, Cordelia tilts her head in his direction and nods in understanding. “No wonder you had to kidnap people to get them to join.”

He smiles, still too smug, as he starts putting her things back in the bag, but keeps the bottle by his side. “Some people don’t know what’s good for them.”

Her gaze shifts to the two Peggies in the front, who are completely too rigid, ready to act when she does something wrong. _If_ she does something wrong. Leaning closer to John isn’t something wrong. At least not the kind of wrong they’re thinking of, but would definitely be wrong to the Resistance. Still, she notices both of them narrow their eyes before her attention is on John, who is also wary of her movement.

“You’re not perfect people,” Cordelia repeats Joseph’s earlier words. She lets one hand rest on the space between them as the other fixes a non-existent crease in his vest. “But still, I think Joseph would be interested to know about the _oregano_ and that cupboard in the kitchen and that little bottom drawer in your bedroom, don’t you?”

It’s nice, the exchange of gleeful smugness between them, as she straightens out his vest and smiles at him, and John grips the bottle in his hand tighter, anger and just a smidge of fear resonating from him. “My brother would understand.”

“Do you really want find out if you’re right?” Cordelia asks, cruelly. “Or do you want to get through this new living arrangement as smoothly as we can?”

John closes the gap between them under the guise of handing her bag back. It’s closer than she ever wants a Seed to be and he notices her discomfort instantly. “Tomorrow, when you’re sitting in my chair and I’m opening you, I want you to remember this moment.”

 _Fucker_.

There’s something in her expression that he sees, some crack that she didn’t mask quick enough, and it’s enough to let him get back some of the power. He reaches out a hand to tuck some of her hair behind her ear and she nearly bites off a piece of her tongue _not_ reacting, keeping her own sweet and malicious smile that mirrors his.

“This is going to be _fun_ , Cordelia.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cordelia and John living together? What could possibly go wrong?
> 
> Thank you so much for reading the chapter. I really hope you enjoyed it!


	5. both hellfire and holy water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He’s not fucking turning me into his new Faith,” Cordelia snaps, throwing the dress in the direction of the trash can.
> 
> “No, he’s not,” John replies, too sternly for her to ignore.
> 
> Oh.
> 
> This is a thing.
> 
> This is a thing that they’ve spoken about before.
> 
> This is a thing that they’ve definitely disagreed about before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter was supposed to be out last week but the ending wasn't working so it got rewritten and rewritten and I still don't think I'm 100% okay with it but I couldn't keep staring at this so I decided to post it. There may be some errors because it was changed a lot but hopefully there aren't. And if that doesn't make a compelling pitch for you to read it, I don't know what will. Joking (and possible self-deprecation) aside, I do really hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Warnings: I don't want to spoil things but Cordelia gets hold of a knife and uses it to get some answers, and then kind of, possibly considers knife play. Also, Cordelia has unhealthy coping mechanisms.

“ _John!_ ” Cordelia’s raised voice seems to echo through the ranch as she storms into the kitchen, ignoring the way this is making the throbbing in her head worse.

John, frustratingly, only briefly raises his head to acknowledge her presence before going back to reading. “Good morning, Cordelia.”

Her fury seems to be radiating off her, the note clutched in her hand. John’s more interested in the file in his hand and the coffee in the other, which makes her grip the note harder. Even as she starts to read it out, he barely acknowledges her. “ _This is what you’ll be wearing to your baptism_.”

The slight raise of his eyebrows seems to be the only reply he’s going to give her as he brings his mug up to his mouth again.

Well, fuck that.

She scrunches the note in her hand and drops it into his mug when he places it back on the table. What she expects to happen, some reaction of anger and annoyance that’s on its way to matching hers, doesn’t. Instead, John lets out a sigh, one that should not sound as long suffering as it does, not when she’s holding a white lace dress that could, with the addition of some flowers, resemble something a Faith would wear.

“This is an important day,” he finally says, closing the file. The emphatic way he does it is deliberate, calculating, because he knows that’ll only make her want to read it more.

Fuck him.

... She does want to read it more now though.

Damn it.

John meets her eyes for a moment then lets his gaze drift to the dress and doesn’t even try to hide his amusement. “Joseph wants you to look your best.”

“He’s not fucking turning me into his new Faith,” Cordelia snaps, throwing the dress in the direction of the trash can.

“No, he’s not,” John replies, too sternly for her to ignore.

 _Oh_.

This is a thing.

This is a thing that they’ve spoken about before.

This is a thing that they’ve definitely _disagreed_ about before.

And John _knows_ she caught on, his movement just a little too abrupt as he stands up. He grabs his mug, pointedly avoiding her questioning stare, and walks over to the trash can. The note is fished out of the ruined cappuccino and dropped on top of the dress.

“Now you only have two options,” John says, wiping his fingers on his jeans and still looking anywhere but in her direction. His focus is now solely making a new coffee, which works in her favor.

Cordelia uses her finger to turn the file towards her, but continues to watch him as she asks, “Two?”

Apparently, a piece of paper in his cup didn’t _just_ ruin the drink itself. John pours the contents of his mug into the sink before leaving it there for someone else to wash. “I have something that Joseph _and_ Jacob both approved.”

“Those two fashion icons agreed on an outfit?” she asks with as much fake surprise as she can must; it earns her a small huffed laugh at least. With his back turned to grab a new mug, she’s able to open the manila folder and then immediately regret it as the words come into focus. Well, _some_ words come into focus, the ones that will always get her attention.

 _Marigold Whittle (nee Sinclair)._ In a red pen scribble above that is “proof of marriage?”.

Shit.

 _Otis –_ another scribble above has the word “seriously?” _– Whittle._

Shit.

_Mary Whittle._

Fuck.

“There is always the other option,” John says, dragging her gaze back to him so he can see her _actual_ surprise. “But I don’t think you’ll want to get baptized naked. Especially not after you decided to invite Pastor Jerome and the Sheriff and the rest of your little friends along.”

The blood rushing to her head makes him barely audible. “What the fuck is this?”

“Do you want me to make you one too?” he asks, casually, as he fills the portafilter. He asks like this is normal, like they’re just friends hanging out in the morning, like he doesn’t have what appears to be more than a few pages about a life he has no right to know about. About two other lives that he shouldn’t know about, especially when she and the rest of her family had no idea, especially when they managed to apparently do the impossible. Either that or Marigold and Otis got sloppy, which could just be the one shining silver lining of this whole fucking clusterfuck.

 _Fuck_.

Why is she surprised? This is what the cult does. They learn everything about a person, either voluntarily or not, and then uses it against them, _for_ them, so the person will join up because they feel loved, or seen, or scared. But this is more than that. This isn’t just her file from the Sheriff’s Department; this is a biography, this is personally written by someone _for_ John, probably for all of the Seeds.

Probably Nancy.

_Fucking Nancy._

Cordelia didn’t feel bad about hitting the woman’s car now; she should’ve hit backed into it again.

In the back of her mind, there’s a small feeling of relief because even if she hates them doing it, at least they’re calling her Cordelia.

“-- have to explain the dress to Joseph. He’s going to --” John’s still talking, glancing over his shoulder at her as he foams his milk. His tone is so conversational and mundane, and it’s doing nothing to help her calm down and that’s entirely the point.

He’s been sitting down here with this file, _her_ file, waiting for her to walk in with the dress. The dress that he placed on the hook on the back of her door, meaning he was _inside_ her room while she was sleeping even after the explicit threats she made last night about him doing shit like that. He put himself in the right position so he would be the _first_ thing she saw when she stormed into the kitchen because of course he knew she was going to do that. Those threats were the last words she spoke to him the previous night, practically vibrating with anger, as they watched Jerome and Whitehorse drive away from the ranch. She’d been surprised that none of the Peggies around had turned their guns on her. This is a retaliation.

And it is perfect, even if she hates herself for thinking so.

But this can’t be what they were saving the file for. They had every opportunity to pull it out during the negotiation, or even any time they captured her; they’ve been waiting to use it and John’s blown it prematurely. She can’t even bring herself to point that out because her hands are still shaking as her eyes flit across the paper, trying to read it but it’s just words on a page that don’t look coherent.

The mug slides into her view, just below the open file, and it takes a considerable amount of willpower to stop staring at everything they’ve managed to find about the last seventeen years of the Whittles’ life. Or whatever they’re called now. Hell, they weren’t even called the Whittles when she was one of them. She hadn’t even heard the name until that afternoon in July when she was holding back tears and not answering any of the questions she was asked because she just wanted her mommy, not this other brunette woman who kinda looked like her.

“4 sugars is excessive,” John says, and it feels like he’s giving her an out. She figures he must think it’s no fun if he destroys her _so_ early in the game, not when he hasn’t even gotten her strapped down yet.

“Kim made me cut back,” Cordelia replies, her tone just barely managing to sound casual. Sitting down on the table manages to slightly help her nerves. Gripping the mug with her hands and feeling the heat burn into her skin helps more. “It used to be six.”

John makes a noise of disgust and it’s only partially to get her attention back on him wholly.

It works.

She instantly regrets it.

The Cordelia who walked into the kitchen less than ten minutes ago would’ve had a remark.

This Cordelia is trying not to think about the fact that she saw the word _Kyrat_ near the bottom of the page. She knows about Kyrat. Even if half of Hurk’s stories are bullshit, which she assumes they are because there’s no way someone can go through all of that he has and not be different, Kyrat is still a warzone.

No.

_No._

Marigold and Otis are cockroaches. They’re fine. They’re always fucking fine.

Not that she cares.

But it would be nice to know where they are.

If they _are_ dead, she can dance on their graves. Maybe she _should_ try to read the file; that would be a way better strategy than any of the ones she’s been given in the past.

And if they’re _not_ dead, she can...

This is a rabbit hole she can’t go down. Not again.

“Does Mary May know about your... _connection_?” John asks, his shit-eating grin radiating off him, as he brings his cup to his lips. For a second, it’s nice, refreshing, gets her out of her own head. But only for a second.

Her own coffee doesn’t seem to push the lump out of her throat. At least she’s able to hide how he rattled her, as she presses her hands harder against the ceramic. “What’s the option Joseph and Jacob agreed on?”

“Answer my question first,” John replies. He starts leaning a little closer in her direction then stops. There’s something in her eyes that gives him pause. It’s not her teetering breakdown, maybe she looks like she is actually ready to kill him with her bare hands. Whatever it is makes him lean back against the counter once more. “And I’ll show you.”

She doesn’t want to give into him.

She also doesn’t want to keep imagining what outfit all three Seeds would agree to; none of it is good.

“Do you still go by _Duncan_?” Cordelia keeps her voice sweet, innocent, probing, while her face remains as blank as she can manage. She can poke him a little; it’s what he deserves.

To his credit, his only reaction is a blink. It’s underwhelming. Even his tone is normal as he answers, “That name outlived its usefulness.”

To _her_ chagrin, her reaction to that is a tension that spreads throughout her body before she can stop it, before she can stop _him_ noticing. He was always going to notice, though; his eyes never left her.

But he doesn’t push her. At least not verbally. No, he prefers to just watch her as she grinds her teeth and tries, and fails, not to think.

(“ _One thing your mama and daddy learned was it ain’t a good idea to keep using the same name. It tends to get you into sticky situations. Just like this one_.”

“ _Take a step closer to me and I will shoot you._ ”

“ _That so? Damn, sweetheart, they really your parents? ‘Cause you sure as shit didn’t get that from those fuckin’ pu_ \--”)

Briefly, she wonders if she can actually break the mug if she pushes hard enough, if it’ll be the heat from the cappuccino or the broken ceramic shards that’ll hurt worse.

Fuck, she really thought she’d managed to claw back some of the control.

No.

No, she still can.

“ _Mary_ wasn’t supposed to last until Christmas,” Cordelia finally says with a scoff that doesn’t sound quite as hollow as she feels. “And definitely wasn’t supposed to leave Copper Glen so no, Mary May has no idea.”

John’s brow pinches, which makes her own because confusion wasn’t what she was expecting. There were supposed to be biting comments, huffs, maybe even some thinly veiled threats when the conversation really started to get heated. The fact that he’s confused, trying to piece together information she’s not sure she actually gave him, means...

Oh.

_Oh._

“ _John_ ,” she says, back to sweet and innocent and even a little melodic this time as she tilts her head. “Did you really think my name was Mary?”

It’s a rhetorical question; she knows even before the crease between his eyebrows gets deeper. She did _say_ she wanted some of the control back, she just thought it would take a little longer. Not that she’s complaining. It’s nice watching the gears in his brain shift, try to figure out if she’s lying, try to figure out what the angle for that would be, try to figure out how the fuck he didn’t know that.

Then a question worms its way into her own brain and it’s like an actual light bulb is flashing above her head. Her eyes widen slightly, laughter peppering her words, as she asks, “ _John_ , is the reason Joseph wouldn’t let anyone kill me because he thought my name was Mary?”

John’s expression of confusion, anger, surprise, and just a sprinkling of fear does wonders for her. Gone are her shaking hands and the nauseous feeling in her gut; now she’s light, now she can inhale without worrying it’ll get caught in her throat. She’s not even trying to hold back her laughter as she rocks back slightly on the table, a small amount of coffee spilling onto her pajama bottoms.

“He thought... He thought that...” Cordelia’s barely able to get the words out. John’s still trying to work through what she’s said and that only makes her laugh more. She’s fine with him seeing these tears. “He fucking thought that was a sign.”

“It _is_ a sign,” John manages to say through his gritted teeth.

This is incredible. This is all she’s going to be able to think about when she sees Joseph down by the river. “That’s not my name, John. It’s just the lie I went with because I _assumed_ Marigold and Otis were coming back and I figured it was easy to remember.”

“There was no birth certificate.” It’s pretty clear that he’s not actually talking to her and is instead trying to come up with an explanation.

That doesn’t stop her from replying with a shrug of her shoulder. “They weren’t big on paper trails.”

“You told everyone your name was Mary,” John states almost angrily, placing his cup behind him as he does, probably so he doesn’t end up throwing it against the wall. “There are documents. You said your name was Mary every time they asked.”

“Again, I _thought_ Marigold and Otis were coming back for me,” Cordelia says slowly, her grin must be damn near unbearable to John. She brings one leg up to press against her inner thigh and rests her mug on her bent knee. “It was pretty smart actually. No one thought twice about Marigold naming her daughter Mary; if anything, I think they were surprised it wasn’t _short_ for Marigold.”

One day, she thinks, _hopes_ , that she’ll the one reasonable for that vein in his forehead popping. “What _is_ your name then?”

“What _is_ the option Joseph and Jacob agreed on then?” Cordelia snaps back, leg now lightly swinging.

“Cordelia--” John’s voice is a low warning. It doesn’t affect her quite as much as he probably expects it to.

She raises her free hand in defence. “I answered your question, now you have to answer mine. Those were your rules.”

John takes a long sip, using the time to scrutinize her. If she had been paying attention, instead of just relishing in the fact that she once again pissed off a Seed, she would’ve noticed the annoyance disappear from his expression. She would’ve noticed the glint in his eyes, knowing that he remembered he had a way to get the upper hand back again. She would’ve noticed it all if she wasn’t sitting there, drinking her own coffee and wondering what piece of furniture she could get him to throw in the kitchen.

“You’re right,” John acquiesces, placing the mug behind him on the counter. “Don’t move.”

And she listens to him.

Until she hears his footsteps reach the stairs, then she turns herself to pick up the file because it’s a scab and she wants to keep picking at it, even when her hands shake, even when she has to put her own mug down on the table because she’s worried she’ll break it, even when it feels like her throat’s constricting.

She wants to say that she doesn’t give a shit about Marigold and Otis, and she doesn’t, but she also needs to know if they’re dead because then there isn’t this giant question mark hanging over her, because then she _can_ dance on their graves, because then she thinks she can feel okay.

Cordelia makes it to the second page of the file before anger takes over. It’s an anger that only grows as she flips through the pages because there are photos. Not of Marigold and Otis, but of her family. There are recent photos of her Mama and her Pops, of her Grandmama and her Granddaddy; the Project, the _Seeds_ , have been watching them, have _hired_ people to watch them, to do what exactly? To use them as tools to coerce her into doing what they want? To bring them to Hope County and make them, and _her_ , suffer?

Her hands are still shaking as she throws the file down beside her, barely missing the cup.

She’s going to kill them.

She’s going to kill the Seeds.

This is it.

They have fucked her over in so many ways but bringing her family into it? No.

Wait.

Fuck.

Do they even know she’s alive? It’s been months.

If they thought she was alive, they would’ve flown in here, they would’ve done anything they could to get in here.

If the Seeds had them, they would’ve already used them as leverage.

If they were killed coming into Hope County, the Seeds would’ve... Would’ve what? Hung their bodies up as a display of their power? Used them as a way to get her to bow? Jacob used Pratt and it worked, but they’re not stupid. They kill her family and show her that and she destroys all of Hope County, not just every single member of the Project. They have her file; they know how important her family is to her. So, if they had done something, if something had happened, Cordelia would never know.

She doesn’t even realize she has the knife in her hand until she’s holding it behind her. Her pajama pants have no pockets. She doesn’t have any long sleeves she can hide it up, not that she would, it’s not her she’s aiming to hurt right now. So, behind her back is the only place she has because she can’t just hold it up in front of her because then he’ll see it and she wants it to be a surprise.

It takes effort, a serious amount of effort, to look as calm but disinterested as she should be, as she would be if she hadn’t read the fucking file.

It takes a lot more effort when she hears his footsteps coming back down the stairs.

And she’s damn near shocked that she doesn’t hurl the fucking thing directly at his head when he waltzes back in the room with a Hope County Deputy’s uniform. Correction, what appears to be one of her _other_ Hope County Deputy’s uniform, so either Peggies have been to her place or they got a spare from Nancy and sewed her name on it.

Again, she’s shocked that her grip remains so tight on the knife’s handle when John closes the distance between them and holds up the uniform to her like it’s the greatest thing in the world.

If John had been paying attention, instead of just relishing in the fact that he was finally able to show her something that he’d been holding onto for a while now, he would’ve noticed the murderous look in her eye that she just couldn’t hide. He would’ve noticed that the file on the table was wide open, pictures inside scattered. He would’ve noticed that one of her hands was behind her back. He would’ve noticed it all before he felt the sharp point pressing against his sternum.

Cordelia’s suddenly grateful that he was so wrapped up in unnerving her that he forgot just who she was.

She’s also grateful that she’s had enough tries at this that she knows the exact momentum and speed required to only reach the chest, because going for underneath the chin could really only end badly. That was a lesson she only had to learn twice.

“Jacob told me to Cordelia-proof the place,” John sighs. He doesn’t even seem affronted, his minor surprise wearing off, as he looks at her.

That won’t do, so she pushes the knife a little more against him, not hard enough to pierce the skin but hard enough to be a reminder she can. “Your brother’s a smart man, you should listen to him more.”

As it turns out, her words have more of an effect than the threat of death. John glares at her as he replies, “I thought you wanted us to build trust. How does locking away half this ranch do that?”

“How did _you_ manage to sleep last night _without_ doing that?” Cordelia questions, an odd joy coursing through her anger. “I could’ve killed you.”

“You couldn’t even figure out how to walk up stairs last night,” he snaps back. “You fell asleep in the hangar, hugging that empty bottle of whiskey and your animals.”

Her jaws clenches momentarily before she shakes her head. “I walked up stairs last night.”

“Yes, at 4:30 this morning, you managed to stumble up the stairs and only knock three photographs off the wall. Congratulations.” John rolls his eyes and finally lets his arm drop, the pants of the uniform resting on the floor. “You know, I was laying there, listening to you, and all I could think was how disappointed we should be that _you_ managed to hurt the Project like you did. _You_ , of all people. _You_ , who thought the mountain lion down there was real.”

It’s a complete accident, her pressing the knife into his chest a little more, and it’s only his sharp inhale that makes her realize that she has actually broken the skin this time. But she’s not going to apologize or drop it, because those photographs are still there on the table. Instead, she pulls it away and lets it rest a little further up.

“Magnolia Sinclair-Carnahan and Finn Carnahan, where are they?” Cordelia asks. There’s more fear in her voice than anger, but only slightly.

Now, John finally notices the open file and he chuckles, actually chuckles, like she isn’t holding a knife close to his throat. “Is that what this is about?”

“Answer the fucking question, John.”

He contemplates it, toying with her, and she can see it all over his face, but he acquiesces because that’s what Joseph would want, not because she’s threatening him. “They’re right where you left them.”

Her shoulders begin to slump with relief until she remembers there are more questions. “And Marguerite and Buford Sinclair?”

“Also, right where you left them.”

“Do they think I’m dead?”

“Yes.”

One simple word that actually makes her stop. Every muscle, every bone, every single part of her being just freezes in place.

Her parents and her grandparents think she’s dead. They are walking around mourning her and she’s still here. But they don’t know because they haven’t heard from her in months, because they haven’t been given any indication she’s alive, because they’ve probably been told that she’s dead and they believed whoever told them and now they’re walking around mourning her and being devastated and she’s right here and she can’t fucking do anything about it.

“How?” The question barely manages to escape her lips but it does, albeit as more of a whisper.

John smiles at her and she can’t quite tell if it’s condescending or genuine because she’s pretty sure her whole body is numb and that’s taking a lot of her focus. “On a fateful morning in late Spring, Cameron Burke, Earl Whitehorse, and three Deputies walked onto the Project at Eden’s Gate’s compound. They showed Joseph Seed that they had a warrant for his arrest and he willingly complied. While flying back to Missoula, the helicopter the six of them were in suffered mechanical problems and crashed into a mountain. There were no survivors. Their bodies were recovered over the course of the next few days, properly identified, and ready for their families to collect so that funeral arrangements could be made.”

It’s rehearsed. He’s had the whole fucking statement memorized because... Why? He’s had to repeat it? He’s had to say it under oath? He’s had to _write_ it in the first place.

A sudden wave of grief crashes into her and threatens to knock her down but her anger is so resolute. Even when her hands are shaking. Even when there are tears building up and wanting desperately to show themselves in her eyes. Even she’s not sure if she wants to throw up or scream or destroy every piece of furniture she can see or if she wants to do a mixture of the three.

“Where did you get the bodies from?” Cordelia asks, like _that’s_ the most pressing issue.

John’s smile stops being something she can’t put her finger on and just turns into amusement. “You. Your little rampage out of the compound made people _hopeful_. The Resistance lost quite a few members that night because they thought they had a chance while we were distracted by _you_.”

“Well, I’m all about being helpful,” she says and it’s not the time. It’s not the time to give into this, to fall into this routine of theirs, and it’s certainly not the time for them to even have a routine. Cordelia lets the knife drop a little, still pressing against his chest, as her brow furrows. “I was wondering why no one had come looking for us.”

“People tried,” John informs her. She’s not sure if he’s supposed to but he doesn’t immediately look like he’s said something he shouldn’t so she doesn’t question it. “We have friends in high places.”

“So why did they let Joseph get taken in the first place?”

“Because he wanted it.”

That was the moment when John could’ve taken the knife from her, when she faltered, when her grip loosened just enough that it would’ve been safe, but he didn’t. If the roles were reversed, she would’ve. Cordelia assumes it’s because he’s confident she’s not about to actually use it because it would fuck everything up and she would never be able to stop running.

The numbness she felt earlier seems to pass through her once more. Her body isn’t sure if it wants to fall to the ground or stay upright, if her heart wants to momentarily stop or beat so hard it’s overwhelming, if her throat wants to close entirely or stay open so she can take hyperventilated breaths.

John seems to take pity on her; something which will probably fucking haunt her for the next few weeks. “I’m not a _shitty_ lawyer. I had it all sorted out until Joseph had a vision and suddenly wanted you all to come here. He said it would strengthen our family, that it would strengthen his flock’s belief in the Project and him, that it was the beginning of end. Except it wasn’t and Joseph’s been locking himself away to try to understand and you’ve been destroying everything that we’ve built.”

Her eyes search his face for some sign that he’s lying but there isn’t one.

So, this really is all Joseph’s fault.

She knew that but confirmation is good.

“What happens if the Collapse doesn’t come?” she asks, barely even recognizing her own voice.

His gaze darkens. “It _will_ come.”

“I’ve been here almost four months now,” Cordelia says. Slowly but surely, the numbness is disappearing, with frustration and an urge to share that emotion taking its place. “I haven’t seen any signs of an impending apocalypse.”

“You haven’t been listening to the news then.”

“No, I listen to my favorite station. How else would I hear all those beautiful songs they’ve written about you?”

Triumph makes her smile as John’s eyes narrow. There’s something he wants to say but then he thinks of something and his expression almost mirrors hers. “I can’t wait to hear you sing for us on Sunday. I’m sure you know every word.”

Shit.

She does.

She doesn’t want him to know that though.

The corners of her mouth curl upwards into that practiced sweet smile of hers. Cordelia leans forward as much as she can with the knife between them. She’s not entirely sure what she expects to come out of her mouth, but it definitely isn’t supposed to be, “If you really wanted to hear me say ‘ _Oh, John’_ , you only have to ask.”

And she swears she can hear Adelaide somewhere screaming.

She also swears she can hear everything that is happening outside of the room because all of the noise within was seemingly sucked out the second those words in that particular order left her mouth.

Those words actually left her mouth.

She said that _to_ John.

What is she doing?

Cordelia came in here to yell at him about a dress, now she’s joking about him possibly wanting to fuck her; Hope County has really done something to her.

Is she still pissed off about what Mary May said yesterday?

Is she still pissed off about what her life has become?

Is she just trying to get a rise out of John? … A poor choice of words on her part.

Or, is what Adelaide and Sharky and a few others said true?

As she’s trying to figure out what to say to get out of here, Cordelia accidentally presses the knife against his chest again. It’s not enough to pierce the skin this time, but it is a reminder that there’s something between them.

And then she notices it, that little flicker in his eyes that he’s not quick enough to diminish.

John likes this.

He likes her pressing this knife into his chest, likes that she really does look like she could kill him right here even though they both know she won’t, likes that she probably wouldn’t even bat an eyelash because that’s who she is now.

He might even like it if she dragged the knife down to press against his dick, if she added just a little pressure, if she kept staring at him the way she is now with that combination of anger and interest that she doesn’t think is of her own volition.

Wait.

Fuck.

What is she _doing_?

Cordelia does want to manipulate him, which she could do by using his bizarre interest in her. She can justify having sex with him – to who? Her friends? The Resistance? Herself? – if there’s more to it than sex. If she can turn him against his family, or change the Project, or destroy the Project entirely.

But it won’t really change anything, will it?

John’s not stupid. If she does this, plays this game this early, he’ll see right through it. And even if he doesn’t, his brothers definitely will.

And does she actually even want to have sex with him? Is that something she wants to do?

Neither of those are questions she actually wants to answer at this moment because she doesn’t know what the answer would be.

(She does know what the answer would be, and that’s why she doesn’t want to answer it.)

With her heart thundering in her chest, Cordelia does her best impression of aloof that she can and throws the knife onto the table. It helps that she momentarily breaks eye contact with John to glance down.

“You have something on your shirt,” she says, taking the uniform from his hands and not looking back as she leaves the kitchen to get ready.

He’s definitely carving ‘Lust’ into her now.

* * *

It’s been two hours and John has been pointedly not looking at her any time they’re in the same space.

It’s either because of what she said, or because she stabbed him. Maybe it’s both. Not that she cares that much about the latter because during their first interaction they really had, he wrapped his hands around her throat and tried to drown her so he kind of deserved it.

If it’s the first one, it’s not like she hasn’t been thinking about it too. It’s pretty much been the only thought that’s been bouncing around in her head since she left the kitchen. Even when she was staring at herself in the mirror, the sight of her in her uniform something she hadn’t seen since she shakily took her other one off in Dutch’s bunker. At that point, she’d been more focused on looking at all the bruises and cuts she’d gotten since the helicopter crash and escaping the compound to really think about what Dutch said; it didn’t really matter whether she wore it or not, everyone seemed to know who she was anyway. The burning seemed more for Dutch’s benefit than hers. But still, wearing it again didn’t have the same impact as she’s sure the Seeds were hoping for, and that’s all because of her not thinking before she spoke.

Cordelia thinks she should take his silence as a blessing, but it’s palpable in the truck. As much as they try not to, the two Peggies up front keep looking in the rear-view mirror to try to figure out what happened. Yesterday, Cordelia and John had been _loud_. Their conversation/argument, depending on the topic, had echoed in the small space and, even when they finally got to the ranch, had seemed to resound around the property. The only time they stopped was when Pastor Jerome and Sheriff Whitehorse had driven up, and John had excused himself to apparently talk to his brothers.

Nothing good can come from John’s silence. Not when she’s going to be put in his chair later so he can hear her confession and mark her with her sins. He’s probably thinking about what’s he going to do to her. Confessions are messy, and painful, and hard, that’s what he said last time or something like that, she thinks, so he’s not going to go easy on her, not that he would’ve before. After this morning, he probably has some anger he wants to release and Cordelia’s going to get the brunt of it.

Unless she talks to Joseph.

He thinks they have a connection, or he wants them to. He wants this truce to work so that his flock aren’t taken from him. He wants her to trust them at some point.

Maybe she should’ve worn the dress, that would’ve made it easier.

Still, if she plays him well enough, Cordelia can probably appeal to his desire to save her soul and bring her into the Project.

_Huh._

That’s two out of three brothers she’s considered manipulating today.

Well, if she’s really desperate, maybe she can appeal to Jacob’s desire to... turn her into his perfect soldier? Turn her into dinner? Cordelia’s going to have to think about it a bit more before she tries that even though she knows he’ll see through it regardless. Maybe she can use the fact that he sees through it to make something happen; he did like putting her in those cages, there has to be something she can do with that.

A strange feeling of déjà vu settles in the pit of her stomach as the truck turns off the main road. She’d been under the influence of the Bliss last time and in a van so she’s not entirely sure if it’s the same area, especially since so much of the Valley looks similar around this area. The overwhelming need to run that radiates through her tells her it’s pretty close.

She’s pretty sure John says something about them having to walk from here, but she might be wrong. It feels like there’s water in her ears, this deafening rushing sound that dampens everything else. Cordelia can’t even try to shake it out because her whole body seems to be locked in place.

What is she _doing_?

This is such a bad idea.

She should be fighting and winning, just like Mary May said.

She can’t come back from this.

Even if every Seed dies, she’ll still be the person who gave up fighting to join the Project. And why? Because she couldn’t take it anymore? Because too many people were dying because of her? Because she was tired?

Jacob’s right. She is weak.

Why was she the one who got away from the crash?

It should’ve been her wandering in the Bliss, or being broken entirely by Jacob, or being locked away by John.

Maybe she should just let them martyr her.

Her family already think she’s dead. They already buried someone they thought was her; someone who had their _own_ family, someone whose family would never know.

“Cordelia.” John’s voice is a lot closer than it was before. There’s a hand on her arm and it takes a lot of effort to turn her head towards the open door, which she assumes he opened. It’s not concern that meets her gaze, but annoyance and curiosity. She can’t even find it in herself to enjoy that.

But she has to do something. She can’t tell him she _can’t_ do this; he’ll never let her hear the end of it.

This was her choice.

This was her decision.

She agonized over it.

She forced her friends to accept it, or at least pretend to accept it.

She forced the Resistance to do the same.

Cordelia’s going to blame the uniform, and the location, and the Seeds. Fuck the Seeds, they did get to her.

“I need a minute,” she starts before stopping when she hears herself. This is not how she’s supposed to sound. This is not who she’s supposed to be, especially around any member of the Seed family or the Project. Her friends can see her like this, when she’s broken and battered and barely resembles herself, but not _them_. Cordelia shakes her head, trying to get herself back. “Before I let you dunk me in the water.”

That’s pathetic. There were so many other things she could’ve said; her mind offering her them in rapid succession as she visibly chastises herself for that. John clearly thinks so too if his expression is anything to go off. That’s so embarrassing. She was doing so well. Yet another thing to blame the Seeds for.

He doesn’t even let her have her minute alone. Probably because last time he left her alone, she got knife, but where’s she going to find a weapon in the truck? It would make too much noise if she started pulling the vehicle apart.

As she slides down the seat, Cordelia brings her hands up to cover her face. That helps muffle her long, loud groan somewhat.

Why did she invite her friends to this? To prove that she was doing this voluntarily? To prove that she was okay?

Whiskey.

Whiskey is why she did it.

Because she’d poured herself two more glasses while Jerome and Whitehorse were still nursing theirs.

She lets out another groan as she rubs the heels of her palms against her closed eyes.

“Why did you choose Mary?” John asks, reminding her of his close presence.

She moves one hand to the side of her head to look at him. Is this him taking pity on her, _again_? Hopefully not. Hopefully he’s just curious and not trying to distract her from what’s waiting for them down by the river.

His brow crinkles slightly at her silence, eyes still searching her face for the truth. “Are your parents religious?”

That makes her snort. Her hands leave her head so she can cross her arms. “Marigold and Otis are a lot of things, but religious isn’t one of them.”

“Why do you call them by their names?”

“And here I thought we had to wait until Confession before I opened myself up for you.” Her joke falls flat, which isn’t surprising. She had hoped that it might get him a little, enough that she could get out of the truck and postpone this, but she’s really not that lucky. Cordelia turns herself in the seat, letting her legs stretch out in the open air. Maybe honesty will do the job that the joke failed to. “They’re the pieces of shit who brought me into this world, but they lost the right to be called ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’ when they cleared all their stuff out of our apartment but didn’t take their own daughter. I sat there with that stupid giant bowl of cereal actually thinking they would be back before I finished it because that’s what Marigold promised. _Then_ I waited for a whole year in a place I didn’t know, with a family they never told me existed, and again actually thought they were coming back for me. I treated everyone like shit because I was stupid enough to think they were coming back so it didn’t matter.”

John’s silence isn’t the response she’s expecting, but then again, she has no idea what she would want him to say in that moment. There’s nothing he can say that’ll offer her comfort and even if he did, she wouldn’t believe him.

“I wasn’t allowed to have a lot of stuff because we moved around so much,” Cordelia continues, running her fingers through her hair as she does. “But I was allowed books so I had as many as I could. Some were books just for me, I was the only one allowed to read them. Other books I read with Marigold. It took me a while, longer than it should’ve, to realize that the last book we read together was like her explaining what she and Otis were planning to do; only, _sadly_ , they didn’t die from cholera.”

The corners of John’s lips quirk up, but she’s pretty sure it’s because of the tone she uses and not the reference.

“That’s where I got Mary from. If I’d known how long I’d be stuck with it, believe me, I would’ve chosen something different,” Cordelia explains. Her eyes drift to the side, glancing at what she can see through the open truck window, before she scoffs. “I chose it because I thought Marigold would like it, and then I spent the next 8 years hating myself for that. I legally changed my name as soon I as could. I didn’t want anything to do with them.”

Which isn’t entirely true, but if she gets into that here, they’re going to be late for her baptism and they can’t have that.

John nods his head in understanding as he stares at her and, somehow both genuinely and derisively, asks, “Have you ever talked to a therapist? It might help.”

“Your brother started a cult and you help him run it,” Cordelia replies with a smile, instead of the scoff that wants to escape. “You don’t get to ask me if _I’ve_ ever been to therapy.”

Cordelia pushes herself out of the truck, and lets herself take one deep breath before she starts walking towards the river. She gets about three feet before John’s hand is on her arm. As she turns back around to face him, she realizes that they’re alone. The two Peggies who drove with them are nowhere in sight. That doesn’t seem like the best choice John could’ve made given what happened a couple of hours ago but she’s not going to mention that... probably. Especially not if he’s already pissed about her using the ‘c’ word.

“Joseph wants me to walk you down there,” is all the explanation John gives her before he links his arm with hers and begins leading her to the river. And there is absolutely no part of that sentence that she likes.

So, it doesn’t surprise her really, when they walk down the dirt road and she’s not greeted with the usual Peggie baptism she’s seen before.

Oh no, this is a production.

Her gaze darts around trying to see every single thing so she doesn’t miss anything important. There are at least three cameras; two at the back to capture them walking in, and one closer to the front so Joseph can monologue she assumes before he ‘cleanses her of her sins’. Her friends, at least the ones who she expected, are sitting on hay bales to one side, actively trying to distance themselves from who she assumes are high-ranking Peggies sitting opposite to them. Jacob’s leaning against a tree close enough to where Joseph is in case there’s trouble but far enough away that he’s not in any of the shots unless he wants to be. The main man himself is standing in front of the camera, arms outstretched towards her and a warm smile to greet her.

And it’s only when John’s walked her right to him that Cordelia notices what she had subconsciously been trying not to.

They set this up like a fucking wedding.

They decorated this area like a fucking wedding.

Joseph may not be wearing a suit but he’s wearing a freshly pressed shirt and there’s no vest in sight.

Now she’s glad that she threw the dress in the trash. Joseph, on the other hand, does seem slightly frustrated by what she’s wearing, which makes her think maybe John _wasn’t_ telling the whole truth earlier. But before she can say anything, John is letting go of her arm and handing her to Joseph and she actually fucking lets him because she’s struggling not to laugh or cry or scream or do some disturbing hybrid of the three. In fact, Cordelia’s pretty sure she’s about to bite through her tongue when Joseph’s hand takes hers.

 _This_ was not what she wanted, and judging by the looks on her friends’ faces, not what they wanted either.

“I’m not usually one for pageantry,” Joseph says quietly as he turns to her with a warm smile.

“Your family’s all about pageantry,” Cordelia interrupts, following his movement so they can look at each other properly. Her smile is nowhere near as genuine as his.

“Baptisms are sacred.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s what all the people you kidnapped thought as your followers were holding them down.”

He gives her a wary look but otherwise ignores her comment. “I had feeling you wouldn’t wear the dress.”

“A feeling or a _vision_?”

“This is a momentous occasion. You would’ve looked beautiful.”

“Maybe, but I lost the right to white a while back. I mean, unless this is magic water, I’m not washing away those sins with a quick soak and I think your flock _knows_ that.”

Joseph’s expression darkens, his grip on her hand tightening painfully. “Do you think it’s wise to keep mocking me?”

“I wasn’t trying to be wise, I was trying to have fun,” she replies, trying not to show that his squeezing does hurt.

So much for trying to manipulate him.

Maybe she _would_ have better luck with Jacob.

“3 days ago, I took out one of your outposts so you couldn’t broadcast your bullshit in the mountains anymore,” Cordelia continues. “Now, I’m standing here, in this fucking uniform, waiting for you to say whatever little speech you have prepared for your audience and hoping that when you’re holding me under the water, you actually bring me back up.”

His gaze softens, as does his hold on her hand, and almost immediately she wishes that they hadn’t. “Do you think I would go to all of this effort just to kill you?”

“I would.” Her honestly doesn’t shock either of them.

“You may not believe in me, _Cordelia_.” The almost mournful way Joseph says her name makes it glaringly obvious that it’s not the name he wants to use, which means John spent some of the time he was ignoring her talking about her instead. “But one day, you will.”

“Yeah, and why’s that? Because the Voice told you so?” she asks derisively, enjoying the way it makes his nostrils flare.

As it turns out, she needs to stop expecting reactions from the Seeds because lately they have a habit of surprising her.

Joseph leans forward to press his forehead against hers.

Cordelia resists the urge to headbutt him.

“Yes.”

This time, she refuses to let that one simple word make her freeze.

Any pretence of civility or calm that she had before drifts away as she glares at him. It’s something he doesn’t seem to take any issue with. Maybe it’s a Seed thing, they want her like this so it’ll be more satisfying when they finally break her down. Or maybe it’s more of a Joseph and Jacob thing since it seems like John likes her anger and violence, at least if this morning is any indication. Sure, he had wanted her to gorge herself on wrath because he knew it would bring her back to him but she doesn’t think he wants her to become some sweet, docile thing now; he just doesn’t want her making him and his brothers look incompetent.

With a sharp inhale, Cordelia opens her mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by a voice close to them.

“Father, we’re ready whenever you are.”

And there’s the charismatic leader expression of his. Joseph turns away from Cordelia to look at a redhead in the Peggie jumper, too eager and too enchanted by Joseph for Cordelia not to feel a little sad. This woman is early twenties at most and looks at Joseph likes he’s the reason for everything good in the world. Nothing Cordelia or the Resistance could’ve said or done would’ve changed this woman’s opinion on the Seeds, and she knows this woman isn’t alone in this love for him; Cordelia saw that first-hand the night she came to arrest Joseph.

“Thank you,” Joseph says, giving the Peggie his most charming smile before tilting his head in Cordelia’s direction once again. “I don’t want to argue with you. You’re giving yourself to the Project. You’re opening yourself to our love.”

“If you say it like that in front of the camera,” Cordelia responds, mirroring his smile. “I’m not the one going under the water.”

“You should be glad I didn’t listen to what my brother suggested.” He’s enjoying this too much, this little back and forth of theirs. Hopefully he realizes that this isn’t special, but judging from his expression, he doesn’t, or doesn’t want to. “This _is_ momentous. I didn’t want to broadcast your baptism; it should have been a special moment between us, but I was reminded that sometimes actions speak louder than words. My flock, your friends in the Resistance; today, they’ll watch us come together and know that this truce is real. Maybe John was right, this uniform was the better choice.”

It takes him more words than John’s singular, but it has the same effect. Cordelia feels frozen in place as he turns away from her to signal to a Peggie that he’s ready for the camera to roll. There’s too much in what he just said that she needs to dissect while also appearing to be completely normal and calm and herself as she stands there in what was apparently John’s first choice of outfit and readies herself to be baptised for the first time in her life.

Maybe she’ll be right to distrust him.

Maybe Joseph will prove himself to be a liar.

Maybe when he dips her under the water, he’ll just leave her there.

She’s sure she’s not the only person in Hope County thinking or, in some cases, hoping that right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fact that these five chapters have taken place over the course of a couple of days is so funny to me. There will be a small time jump in a coming chapter, but for now, it is the week that would not end and I find that very relatable.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. I really do hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Also, I'm [kimrye](http://kimrye.tumblr.com/) on tumblr if you want to send me a one-shot/drabble prompt.


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